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BLIND BROTHERS 

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BLIND BROTHERS 

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TATE W. PEEK 


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Printed in the United States of America 


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BLIND BROTHERS 




II 


Blind Brothers 

I 

Gil Hammond knocked rather decisively on 
the door marked “Dean of Engineering,’’ and 
was admitted by a small, sharp-eyed professor. 

“Come in, Mr. Hammond/’ invited the little 
man. He motioned to a chair. There were 
about a dozen other men seated in the office, 
all of them members of the university faculty. 
The Dean of Engineering sat behind his desk. 
Gil glanced about the room at the various pro¬ 
fessors, all of whom were well known to him, 
some of them his personal friends. They were 
all regarding him curiously. Their critical 
glances made him feel uncomfortable. 

The Dean spoke: 

“You are aware of the reason for this meet¬ 
ing, I take it, Mr. Hammond !” he inquired. 

“Yes, sir; I suppose it is to investigate the 
loss of the funds from the Pelican safe,” Gil 
replied. 

“You are correct / 9 returned the Dean. Ad¬ 
dressing the group, he continued: 

“Gentlemen, I have called you together to 
deal with a very unpleasant situation. Mr. 
Hammond, as you all know, is student-manager 
of the Pelican. He reports to me that there is 
a deficit of two hundred dollars in the proceeds 
of the California-Washington game, which 
funds Mr. Caldwell, who is manager of the 

7 


8 


BLIND BE OTHERS 


baseball team, gave to Mr. Hammond to 
place in the safe in the Pelican office, until the 
funds could be deposited in the First National 
Bank the following Monday, which is today. 
As you gentlemen know, the banks were all 
closed on Saturday afternoon. 

“As Mr. Caldwell was leaving yesterday 
with the team, on its northern trip, he asked Mr. 
Hammond to deposit the funds for him. Mr. 
Hammond states that when he came to re-check 
the cash at the bank this morning he found it 
to be two hundred dollars short of the amount 
called for on the memorandum given him by 
Mr. Caldwell. He also states that when he 
checked the funds, upon receiving them from 
Mr. Caldwell, that his count tallied with the 
memorandum. As the original count was made 
in the gymnasium, in the office of Dr. Harper, 
and in the presence of several witnesses, there 
can be no grounds to suppose that he made a 
miscount. And as Mr. Hammond further 
states that he did not open the box containing 
the funds, from the time he received them until 
he reached the bank this morning, the possibil¬ 
ity of their being mislaid is also eliminated. 

“We are forced to arrive at the conclusion 
that someone has entered the Pelican office and 
taken the funds.’ ’ 

The Dean turned to Hammond. 

“Has any person, other than yourself, had 
access to the Pelican safe since Saturday after¬ 
noon, Mr. Hammond V 9 

*‘ To the best of my knowledge no one has had 
access to the safe since Saturday afternoon,” 
replied Hammond. “No one else knows the 
combination except my roommate, Lester 
Fowell, who was in San Francisco over the 


II 


BLIND BROTHERS 9 

week-end. Lester is editor of the Pelica/n, as 
you gentlemen know.” 

“You say that you placed the money in the 
safe yourself, Mr. Hammond?” asked the Dean. 

“Yes. The money was in packages of bills— 
tens and twenties—and in silver. All these 
were in a tin box. I placed the box inside the 
safe and locked it myself, Saturday afternoon, 
about five-thirty.” 

“Was anyone with you at the time?” 

“No, sir; Lester Powell saw me receive the 
money from Pat Caldwell, but he did not go 
with me to the office. We were with some ladies. 
Powell and the others waited for me on the 
campus.” 

“Did you go to the office at any time after 
leaving the money ? ’ ’ 

“No, sir. I spent the week-end in San Fran¬ 
cisco at the home of Lester Powell. I returned 
to Berkeley Sunday night. * 1 

“Did Mr. Powell also return Sunday night?” 

“No. He returned this morning, after I had 
already opened the safe. Of course, any sug¬ 
gestion that he had anything to do with the 
affair is ridiculous, sir. ’’ 

“H—m,” grunted the Dean, glancing mean¬ 
ingly at the little professor who had opened the 
door. “No one has suggested Mr. Powell as a 
possible culprit, I believe. By the way, Mr. 
Hammond , 91 he continued, ‘ ‘ have you any proof 
of the fact that you went directly to your room 
Sunday night, after your return from San 
Francisco ? 9 y 

Hammond looked nonplussed for a moment. 

“N—o, sir”; he hesitated. “I went directly 
to my fraternity house. All of the fellows were 
out at the time, or at least I didn’t see any of 


10 


BLIND BROTHERS 


them. I worked for an hour or so and then went 
to bed. It must have been ten-thirty when I 
arrived. I don’t know just when I went to 
bed, sir.” 

“H—m. I see. You did not mention the fact 
that you had left the money in the safe, to any¬ 
one, I suppose?” 

“No. I didn’t give the incident much 
thought, sir. Of course I had no idea that any 
difficulty would arise. I considered depositing 
the funds in the University vault, but the busi¬ 
ness office, as you recall, was closed on Saturday 
afternoon. There was no one to open the 
vault. ’ ’ 

The Dean once more addressed the assembled 
professors. 

“The two stories seem to coincide in regard 
to Mr. Powell,” he said. Turning to Hammond, 
he continued: 

“Have you any theory as to the possible solu¬ 
tion of the theft, Mr. Hammond?” 

“None whatever, sir. The safe had evidently 
been opened by someone w 7 ho knew, or who did 
not need to know, the combination. It is a sub¬ 
stantial safe, but not very modern. An experi¬ 
enced safe-breaker wouldn’t have had a lot of 
trouble opening it, I imagine. The safe was 
locked, just as I left it Saturday night, when I 
re-opened it this morning, sir.” 

‘ ‘ Then you think that a common burglar must 
have been the guilty person, Mr. Hammond? 
Do I understand that you wish to advance that 
theory ? ’ ’ 

Hammond hesitated. 

“I had no intention of advancing any theory, 
sir. It seems to be the only possible explana¬ 
tion, as Powell and I, who were the only per- 


BLIND BROTHERS 


11 


sons who knew the combination to the safe, 
were in San Francisco at the time of the re¬ 
moval of the money.” 

“How do yon account for the fact that only 
two hundred dollars were taken by the thief?” 

“I don’t account for it. It looks as though 
someone had needed that amount very badly, 
and did not care to take more. It’s a mystery 
to me, sir.” 

“H—m. I see. Mr. Hammond, I shall have 
to ask you to step into the outer office for a few 
minutes, while the committee considers your 
statements.” 

Hammond arose and passed into the outer 
office. He was surprised to see his roommate, 
Lester Powell, seated by the table. As Powell 
had not returned from San Francisco until that 
morning, Hammond had not seen him since the 
day before. 

“How are you, Old Man?” Powell asked. 
“Have they been razzing you? I met Doc Had¬ 
ley, the damned old question mark, on the cam¬ 
pus this morning, and he dragged me in for 
an hour’s seance. It was hell. Thought the old 
shyster was trying to hang it on to me. But I 
didn’t give him much satisfaction if he was. 
Wjhat did they ask you?” 

“Not very much; just the details. I don’t 
see how they can connect either of us with it. 
We were both in the city over the week-end. 
The only thing that worries me is that none 
of the fellows were at the house when I returned 
last night. ’ ’ 

“You mean that you can’t prove where you 
were after you left ’Frisco?” 

“No; I came straight to the house, but none 



12 


BLIND BROTHERS 


of the fellows were in. That might happen any 
time though. I don’t think that they have any 
grounds for suspecting me. My record has 
been pretty clean, you know. Dr. Hadley trusts 
me and I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t believe 
that I have been mixed up in it. Of course, he 
has to do what he can to get to the bottom of 
the affair. I don’t blame him for that.” 

‘‘But it isn’t Doc Hadley that you have to 
convince; it’s that damned, gimlet-eyed, psy¬ 
chology fossil of a Martin. Did he question 
you ?’ ’ 

“No; only Dr. Hadley. I don’t think that 
thero is any reason for us to worry, Les. Of 
course I’m all cut up about it, but since neither 
of us could possibly have had anything to do 
with it, I can’t see any use in worrying.” 

“I’m worrying. You don’t know Martin. 
He’s a devil. Thinks that he can work his psy¬ 
chology stuff, and read your face. He’s a 
sneaking—” 

The door opened and the Dean beckoned them 
to re-enter. Hammond took his former seat. 
Powell was given a chair beside him. Dr. Mar¬ 
tin, the little psychology professor, moved his 
chair in front of them and addressed Powell in 
low even tones. 

“Mr. Powell, you and Mr. Hammond are fra¬ 
ternity brothers, I believe?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Mr. Hammond is an intimate friend of your 
family, is he not, Mr. Powell?” 

“Yes, sir; Gil and I have known each other 
since we were kids. ’ ’ 

Dr. Martin smiled. “Thank you,” he said, 
turning to Hammond. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


13 


“Mr. Hammond,” lie began, speaking very 
courteously, “you will pardon a few personal 
questions, I hope?” 

“Go ahead, Doctor,” Gil replied. 

“You are assisting in the Geology Depart¬ 
ment, are you not?” 

“Yes, sir; I earn part of my expenses that 
way . 9 9 

“Then I take it that you are not burdened by 
an excess of financial advantages?” 

Hammond grinned. “I have never lost any 
sleep worrying over any such excess, Doctor,” 
he replied. 

“We have all been similarly fortunate in that 
respect,” continued the doctor, bowing slightly 
to his colleagues. The others exchanged 
amused glances. Hammond was beginning to 
feel more at ease. Powell sat fingering the gold 
football on his watch chain, his eyes fixed on 
the pattern of the carpet. 

Suddenly Dr. Martin leaned forward. He 
spoke in cold crisp tones; each word sounded 
like the dropping of beads from a broken neck¬ 
lace on a polished hardwood floor. 

“Mr. Hammond, will you kindly explain to 
the committee where you secured the two hun¬ 
dred dollars which you bet and lost to Mr. 
Harrison Christy, on the California-Washing¬ 
ton baseball game, played last Saturday?” 

Hammond was amazed. All eyes in the room, 
except those of Powell, were searching his 
face. He flushed and then became pale. 

“The money was my own personal property, 
sir,” he said at last. 

“Did you give Mr. Christy a check?” shot 
the doctor. 


14 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“No. I paid him in cash.” 

“When did you pay him?” 

“Saturday evening, sir.” 

4 4 Where ? ’ ’ 

“At the Olympic Club. We were there with 
some of the Washington fellows.” 

“Who saw you pay him?” 

“Why—Lester here, and several of the gen¬ 
tlemen who were at the club at the time . 9 9 

“Where did you get the money you used to 
pay him?” 

‘ ‘ I—I had it in my room . 9 9 

“What were you doing with such a sum of 
money in your room, Mr. Hammond?” 

“I—I won the money last Wednesday, on 
the Oregon-California game.” 

“With whom did you bet?” 

“I don’t know the man’s name, sir. The bet 
occurred in the grand-stand. The man was 
standing next to me. ’ ’ 

“I see.” 

Martin turned to Powell. “Mr. Powell, did 
Mr. Hammond go to his room before leaving 
for San Francisco?” 

Powell hesitated; he was visibly excited. 

‘ ‘ I—don’t know, sir, ’ ’ he replied. 

Gil looked at his roommate in amazement. 
Powell had been in the car when Hammond 
entered the fraternity house. Les had asked 
Gil to bring him his cigarette case from the 
bureau, in their room. Powell now gazed at the 
carpet. His hands were twitching nervously. 

“Mr. Hammond,” continued Martin, “are 
you in the habit of betting large sums on 
athletic contests?” 

“N—o, sir. I never bet any, to amount to 


BLIND BROTHERS 


15 


anything, before the Oregon game. When I 
won I thought that I might as well risk the 
money on California Saturday.” 

“Did you bet on California Wednesday?” 

“Naturally !” 

“Mr. Hammond, do you realize that betting 
is a practice not encouraged by the faculty of 
this institution V 9 

“I know that gambling in any form is not 
recognized by the University, sir. But I am 
over twenty-one years of age. The money was 
mine. I don’t think that there is any disgrace 
in betting. It is done quite often.” 

‘ < That is a matter of opinion, Mr. Hammond. 
But, in view of the evidence presented, do you 
expect us to believe this statement of yours 
about the removal of the funds from the Pelican 
office?” 

Hammond arose. His face was pale. 

“Dr. Hadley, and gentlemen,” he said, “I 
do not wish you to believe anything except the 
truth. The statement which I have made is 
absolutely correct in every detail, to the best 
of my knowledge. I did not take the funds; I 
do not know, nor have I the least idea who did. 
My record here at the University has been good. 
Let that speak for me. 

“It is obvious, from Dr. Martin’s question, 
and from the evidence presented, that I am 
under suspicion. Gentlemen, I swear by every¬ 
thing that I hold sacred, by my honor as a man, 
and by the sacred ties of my fraternity, that I 
did not commit this theft. There isn’t anything 
more for me to say.” 

Gil turned to the geology professor, a father¬ 
ly old man, who had always befriended him in 


16 


BLIND BROTHERS 


every possible way. The old man’s face was 
troubled. He seemed bewildered. 

“Dr. England, speak for me. You have 
known me for more than three years. For two 
years I have worked in your laboratory. I 
have had charge of laboratory expense money 
and have collected fees. Have you ever found 
me dishonest? Have you ever found one cent 
missing from the funds, or one unaccounted-for 
mistake in the records ? ’ 9 

Dr. England arose. 

‘ ‘ What Mr. Hammond says is true, and I take 
pleasure in confirming it,” he said. “During 
the last three years I have known Mr. Ham¬ 
mond and have had many chances of observing 
him. Gentlemen, I do not believe this charge. 
I would be willing to stake my reputation that 
the boy is not guilty . 9 9 

Dr. Martin regarded him coldly. 

4 4 Have you any evidence, other than personal 
opinion, to present, Doctor?” he asked. 

The old man looked at him contemptuously. 

“I am not accustomed to deal with the 
methods of a police court,” he retorted, “nor 
do I dabble in criminal psychology. I merely 
gave my opinion as that of an old man who has 
spent the greater part of his life teaching and 
dealing with young men and women.” 

Hammond had remained standing while the 
old doctor was speaking. “Thank you, Dr. 
England,” he said. 

The Dean spoke. 

“Of course, Mr. Hammond, you realize 
that in any court of justice a man is considered 
innocent until he has been proved guilty. You 
understand also that we are all very anxious 


r; 


BLIND BROTHERS 17 

that any suspicion be removed from your name. 
But, of course, you must also realize that we sit 
here, not merely as your friends, but as a com¬ 
mittee of investigation. Our business is not to 
form opinions, but to secure and weigh evi¬ 
dence. 

“The question of betting, itself a serious 
charge, is dwarfed by the more important one 
of the missing funds. You must realize that 
you are open to suspicion on the latter charge 
all the more because of the former one, which 
you yourself have admitted. 

“You will remove all suspicion against your¬ 
self on the latter charge by proving first, that 
you placed the money in the safe; second, that 
you did not return to the Pelican office at any 
time after you had left the University grounds 
Saturday afternoon; and third, that you se¬ 
cured the funds for your bet as you stated. 

“We have already verified your visit to San 
Francisco. The matter then simmers down to 
proof of your having personal funds for the 
bet, of your placing the baseball funds in the 
safe, and of your statement that you went 
directly to your fraternity house upon your 
return to Berkeley. 

“You will be given ample time to furnish 
these proofs before any definite action is taken 
in the matter. ’ ’ 

The Dean turned to Dr. Martin. 

“Do you wish to question Mr. Hammond fur¬ 
ther ? ’’ he asked. 

“No. Mr. Hammond may be excused, if he 
so desires,” replied the psychology professor. 
“Mr. Powell, will you be so good as to remain 
for a few minutes?” he asked. 


18 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Hammond left the room in a daze. 

When Hammond had gone Dr. Martin turned 
to Powell. 

“Mr. Powell, will you please tell the com¬ 
mittee what you know of the case, just as you 
told Dr. Hadley and me this morning?” he 
asked. 

Powell fidgeted in his chair, twisted at his 
necktie and hesitated. Dr. Martin continued: 

‘ ‘ Of course, we all know how unpleasant this 
is for you, Mr. Powell, considering your inti¬ 
mate relations with Mr. Hammond, but the 
interests of the University demand that this 
affair be sifted to the bottom and made clear. 

“Do you know anything about Mr. Ham¬ 
mond^ betting on the Oregon-Califomia game, 
last week?” 

4 ‘ N—o; that is—I heard Gil say that he ex¬ 
pected to make a clean-up on the game, if his 
luck held. I didn’t pay much attention. Most 
of the fellows bet something on the games, now 
and then, sir. I didn’t think that Gil had bet 
much. I really thought nothing of it, at the 
time. ’ ’ 

“Did Mr. Hammond have any money in the 
bank, or elsewhere, to your knowledge?” asked 
Dr. Martin. 

“No, sir. He was usually pretty shy of cash. 
He borrowed ten dollars from me before the 
game. ’ ’ 

“Was that anything unusual around your 
fraternity house?” interrupted Dr. England. 
“I understand you fellows are always borrow¬ 
ing and lending to each other.” 

“It wasn’t anything unusual, of course. 
Usually the fellow that has money divides with 


BLIND BROTHERS 


19 


the others. I have lent Gil money dozens of 
times before, and thought nothing of it.” 

“Did he always pay it back?” asked Dr. 
Martin. 

“Yes, so far as I know. As I said, we are 
always borrowing and lending. Nobody keeps 
a very strict account, sir.” 

“Why did you mention his borrowing ten dol¬ 
lars from you, Mr. Powell?” questioned Dr. 
England. 

“I—I was rather surprised, especially as I 
saw him pay Mr. Christy two hundred dollars, 
later in the afternoon, sir.” 

“Did he pay Mr. Christy cash, or a check?” 

1 i Cash. Gil had a roll of bills. ’’ 

“Did he give Mr. Christy the entire roll?” 

“No, sir. There was some left. I noticed, 
because he paid me back the ten I had lent him 
when he paid Christy.” 

The old man looked worried. 

“Did Hammond borrow the money before he 
received the baseball funds from Caldw T ell!” 
asked Dr. Martin. 

“Yes, sir. We w r ere with a bunch of co-eds, 
and Gil whispered to me that he was broke.” 

‘ ‘ Did you see him enter the Pelican office after 
the game ? ’’ 

“No. I paid no attention. I was busy intro¬ 
ducing the girls to some of the Washington 
fellows, and did not notice Gil until he joined us 
later on the campus.” 

“Did he have time to leave the money while 
he was gone, do you think?” 

4 ‘ I really couldn’t say, sir. I kept no track of 
the time. I should think that he would have 
had. ’ ’ 


20 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“Did you and Mr. Hammond go to your fra¬ 
ternity house, before leaving for San Fran¬ 
cisco ? ” 

“Yes, sir. We had left our traveling bags 
in the hall. Hammond jumped out and got 
them. I remained in the car.” 

“Your room is on the upper floor, I believe. 
Did he have time to go upstairs for the money, 
do you think?” 

“I—I couldn’t say, sir. It seems to me that 
he returned almost immediately. The bagjs 
were in the hall. ’ ’ 

“Do you think that he had the money which 
he paid Mr. Christy, in his traveling bag?” 

“He couldn’t have had, unless he took it out 
in the hall. The baggage was in the .other car 
when we stopped at the Olympic Club to drop 
two of the Washington fellows. We were at the 
club only a few minutes.” 

“There were several in the party, I believe. 
Why did Hammond return to Berkeley before 
the others?” 

“I don’t know. He seemed restless—said 
that he wanted to get back Sunday night. Had 
some business to attend to—something in con¬ 
nection with the Pelican , I believe.” 

“Did he tell you that it was something con¬ 
nected with the Pelican?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Dr. Martin looked significantly at the others. 

4 4 Then he must have gone to the Pelican office 
after all, ’ ’ he said. 4 4 That accounts for the rest 
of the funds not being taken. He had the oppor¬ 
tunity to replace them.” 

44 Couldn’t he just as well have replaced them 
Monday morning?” asked Dr. England. 44 That 


BLIND BROTHERS 21 

proves nothing, that I can see. There is nothing 
definite about it.” 

4 ‘It is a well-known psychological fact,” an¬ 
swered Dr. Martin, “that when a person has 
something weighing on his mind, something to 
be done, the person does not rest until the thing 
is done. Besides, Mr. Hammond did not know 
that Mr. Powell would not be present when he 
opened the safe, or would not have an opportun¬ 
ity to open it himself, were Hammond to wait 
till Monday.” 

Dr. England grunted in disgust. 

“Are there any more questions that you wish 
to ask Mr. Powell?” asked the psychology pro¬ 
fessor. “If not, I would suggest that he be 
excused.’ 9 

Powell left the room, and the Dean once more 
took charge of the meeting. 

“Are there any questions or suggestions, 
gentlemen ? ” he queried. 

Dr. England arose. 

“Yes, I should like to know who informed you 
about Hammond’s betting.” 

“Is that necessary?” asked Dr. Martin. 
“The fact that he has confessed to the state¬ 
ment removes all doubt in regard to its verac- 
ity. ” 

“I don’t see any objection to telling how we 
became cognizant of the fact, Dr. Martin,” said 
the Dean, turning to the geology professor. 

“The facts were brought out, Dr. England, 
during our conference with Mr. Powell this 
morning, as a result of Dr. Martin’s question¬ 
ing. Since Mr. Hammond does not deny them, 
there can be no doubt of their validity. ’ ’ 

“I do not doubt them,” returned the old 
doctor, “but the mere fact that the young man 


22 


BLIND BROTHERS 


lias been betting is not, in itself, incriminating 
evidence. But-— ” the old man arose and 
pointed a long trembling finger at Dr. Martin— 
“has it not occurred to you gentlemen, and to 
you, Dr. Martin,, that it is rather unusual for 
one fraternity brother to be so ready to inform 
on another, especially when the information is 
incriminating? 

“Most of you gentlemen have been allied to 
some fraternities or other in your time. I am 
a member of the same fraternity as these two 
young men. I was pledged at Cornell, over 
twenty-five years ago. I instigated the organi¬ 
zation of the present chapter when it became a 
struggling little local. I helped the boys lease 
the old house down on the corner, and gave my 
bit when they bought it ten years ago. I was 
instrumental in bringing about their acceptance 
into the national organization. Since the chap¬ 
ter was first organized, I have been a constant 
visitor at the chapter house. The boys look on 
me as part of the furniture. I have learned to 
know and love them, because they have been 
more or less my own—all the family I have. 
My fraternal obligation to each of these gentle¬ 
men is the same. 

“But again I ask you, Dr. Martin, who are 
yourself a fraternity man and you, Dr. Hadley, 
and you—and you—and you, who are all frater¬ 
nity men: is it according to your experience 
that a man should volunteer such evidence 
against his roommate, the friend of his family, 
and his own fraternity brother? 

4 4 Gentlemen, I am an old man. I have known 
that boy, Hammond, for three years, and I have 
learned to love and respect him. All of this, I 
admit, makes me prejudiced in his favor; but as 


BLIND BROTHERS 


23 


I stand here today, I am ready to stake my repu¬ 
tation among you—and it is all that I have— 
that there has been foul play somewhere, and 
that that young man is as innocent as I am 
myself. ’ ’ 

The old man sat. down and wiped the per¬ 
spiration from his face. Dr. Martin arose. 

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am sure that we all 
appreciate Dr. England’s feelings in this mat¬ 
ter, and honor and respect him for such feel¬ 
ings; but we must not allow the fact that the 
doctor is quite rightfully and naturally preju¬ 
diced in the young man’s favor, to interfere with 
our administration of justice according to the 
evidence presented. It is our duty, in the in¬ 
terests of the University, to deal with the cold 
facts as we see them; and we must not allow 
ourselves to become influenced with the per¬ 
sonal aspect of the situation. 

“As for Mr. Powell, he is of an extremely 
nervous temperament, and under the stress of 
the moment was, in all probability, not aware 
that he was giving harmful evidence against his 
friend. I think you gentlemen will bear me out 
in that, from personal observation. Mr. Ham¬ 
mond’s own evidence clears Mr. Powell from 
suspicion. 

“I would suggest, Dr. Hadley, that in view 
of the fact that we can take no further action 
until Mr. Hammond has been given an oppor¬ 
tunity to produce his evidence, that the com¬ 
mittee adjourn until tomorrow at one o’clock.” 

The Dean charged them all to maintain the 
closest secrecy in regard to the affair, and the 
meeting was adjourned. The professors filed 
out into the hall and, assembling in little groups, 
began discussing the situation in subdued tones. 


II 


Hammond left the Dean’s office feeling as 
though he had just awakened from some nau¬ 
seating, impossible nightmare. While he had 
realized that the loss of the money from the 
Pelican safe was in itself a serious matter, he 
had never even remotely considered the pros¬ 
pect of himself being suspected of the theft. 
He crossed the campus to a group of trees, and 
throwing himself down on a bench, finally suc¬ 
ceeded in collecting his racing thoughts, and 
with them some remnant of his accustomed 
composure. 

It had all begun with that cursed Oregon bet 
of his—no, it had begun with the seeming for¬ 
tunate chance which had sent him something 
over three hundred dollars, a bonus for military 
services during the war. With the money in 
his pocket, he had, on impulse, covered the bet 
of an over-confident, over-loquacious Oregon¬ 
ian, and by some cursed streak of ill luck, had 
won. Then had come the Washington game, 
and with it a temptation to try to make enough 
money for a summer’s vacation after Ms 
graduation in June. He had called the bet of 
Mr. Christy, a mining engineer, who was a 
friend of the Powells, had lost his winnings on 
the Oregon game—and had laid the foundation 
for this damnable tangle. 

Silently and bitterly he cursed Mmself for 
the fool that he had been in betting—for not 
telling some of his fraternity brothers of the 
bonus check—for not taking Powell with him 

24 


BLIND BROTHERS 


25 


when he placed the baseball funds in the Pelican 
safe—for not taking him up to their room be¬ 
fore starting for San Francisco. 

But Powell had known that he had gone to 
their room! He had called to Gil to bring his 
cigarette case from the study table, and Ham¬ 
mond had done so! Why had Les failed to tell 
this? Had his roommate told the committee of 
the bet? Powell had been present at the Olym¬ 
pic Club when he, Hammond, had paid Christy, 
and—yes, by George, Les had been present 
when he made the bet. Powell had made a 
wager with a newspaper man, at the same time. 

Could Powell know anything about the 
money? Gil dismissed this idea at once as ab¬ 
surd. Mr. Powell, senior, was wealthy, and al¬ 
lowed his son all the money he needed. And 
then Les had been in San Francisco. Of course, 
his roommate was pretty weak in some ways, he 
recalled. Les gambled, drank rather often, and 
was pretty lax with his school work; but he 
could have no motive for being dishonest. 

But who had taken the money, and why had 
he not taken the entire amount? Hammond was 
mystified, bewildered. He could not forget the 
failure of his roommate to recall the cigarette 
case. And Les had acted queerly all the after¬ 
noon of the Washington game, had driven reck¬ 
lessly, and had suggested all sorts of ridiculous 
impossible escapades, after their arrival in the 
city. The girls, PowelPs sister, Evelyn, and 
Dorothy Paige, to whom Hammond was virtu¬ 
ally engaged, had laughingly asked him whether 
or not Les was having a light stroke of insanity. 
He had thought nothing of it at the time. 

Well, he ought to be able to prove alibis any- 



26 


blind brothers 


way. Some of the fellows must have seen or 
heard him come into his room; and someone 
might possibly have been at home Sunday night, 
or might have seen him go directly from the 
station to the fraternity house. He was taking 
it as though it were a sixteenth century tragedy. 
Gil told himself to buck up. Two hundred dol¬ 
lars wasn’t much, after all. He still had more 
than that amount from his bonus check, if he 
should have to stand for the loss, and nobody 
would believe that he had taken the money, any¬ 
way. 

Glancing up he saw his roommate crossing 
the campus. Gil arose and w-alked to meet him. 
Powell was rather pale, and still nervous. 

“What did they do about it?” Gil asked. 

“Nothing. They are going to have another 
meeting tomorrow-, at one o’clock. That ought 
to give you a chance to get together your 
alibis. ’ ’ 

“By the way, Les,” Gil questioned, “why 
didn’t you tell Martin about my getting your 
cigarette case for you, Saturday afternoon? 
That would have upheld my statement that I 
got the money from our room with which I paid 
Christy, after I had locked the other in the 
Pelican safe.” 

Hammond glanced sharply at his roommate. 
Powell’s gaze w^as fixed on the ground. 

“I—I didn’t think of it at the time,” he hesi¬ 
tated. “That infernal Martin was X-raying me, 
with his snake’s eyes, and I was pretty much 
upset, I guess. I’ll fix it tomorrows By the 
w^ay—” he shifted the subject hastily— “have 
you seen Dot yet?” 


BLIND BROTHERS 


27 


“No; she came back this morning, with you 
and your sister, didn’t she? 

“Yes. She seemed pretty sore at you for 
running off last night, I thought. We went to 
the Orpheum, and to Tait’s afterward. Had to 
take old man Christy along.” 

“I explained to her yesterday that I had to 
leave. I thought that she understood,” Gil re¬ 
plied. j 

Oh, she probably understood, all right. You 
know how co-eds are. The question is: will 
that bird, Martin, understand? 

‘ ‘ Gil, ol ’ man, I feel pretty mean about hav¬ 
ing to do all this talking about the affair, but 
when that fellow, Martin, gets his eyes drilling 
into my bean I have to blab out something. 
Half the time I don’t know what I’m saying. 
The man has me hypnotized as a blacksnake 
would a humming-bird. I’d like to wring his in¬ 
fernal old rubber neck for him.” 

Hammond searched his roommate's face. 
The look of sincerity appeared to be unmistak¬ 
able. Les was worried about it all right; and 
there was a lot of truth in what he had said 
about the psychology professor. Gil himself 
had felt uncomfortable under the man’s gaze. 

“Oh, that’s all right,” he told Powell. “We 
were both pretty well worked up about it; but 
the thing will straighten itself out somehow, I 
feel sure.” 

When they arrived at their fraternity house, 
Hammond went directly to the telephone. 

“I think I shall call up Dot,” he told Powell. 
His roommate did not reply. As he gave the 
number, Hammond noticed that Powell was 
eying him covertly. 


28 


BLIND BBOTHERS 


“May I speak with Miss Paige?” he asked 
the maid who answered the telephone. While 
he waited, Gil noticed that Powell had moved 
over to the fireplace, and stood poking aimlessly 
at the fire. 

‘ 6 Hello! ’ ’ came over the wire. 

‘ ‘ Hello! Dot ?’ ’ he answered. 6 < Yes, this is 
Gil speaking.’’ 

“Yes?” 

“Les tells me that I have done something to 
incur the Royal Displeasure. I fain would make 
amends. May I run over about seven-thirty?” 

“I think not,” came her crisp reply. 

‘ ‘ Why, please ? ” he asked. She was evidently 
in a pettish mood. 

“It isn’t necessary.” 

“Will you please explain?” he asked. 

“I am returning your fraternity pin. I think 
that will be sufficient explanation,” came the 
reply, in coldly modulated tones. 

“But—for the love of heaven!—won’t you let 
me see you, Dot?” 

‘*1 think not. ’ ’ 

He hung up the receiver with a vicious stab; 
then he looked once more at Powell. Les was 
still regarding him covertly. 


Hammond slowly mounted the stairs to his 
room, and threw himself into an armchair by 
the window. He was dazed—stunned by the 
unexpectedness of this latter blow, coming as it 
did, directly in the wake of the other trouble. 
For over a year, he had been, according to col¬ 
lege tradition, engaged to Dorothy. While they 
had never formally announced their engage¬ 
ment, her acceptance of his pin was in itself a 
public acknowledgement of the fact. And they 
had a clearly defined mutual understanding that 
the formal engagement would be announced 
commencement week. Both were to graduate 
the following June, less than a month away. 
In a half-dozen cool well-modulated sentences, 
with no explanation whatever, she had shattered 
his whole plan of life. And he knew that her 
decision was final—irrevocable. Dorothy Paige 
would take no such action without believing that 
she had ample and sufficient reasons. 

‘‘ My God! What can the reasons be ?’’ Gil 
asked himself over and over again. Could she 
have learned of the money trouble ? That must 
be it, he decided; but who would have told her 1 
Whoever had must have exaggerated the facts. 
None except Powell and the committee knew of 
the loss, unless Powell had told. Les had acted 
queerly since Saturday, but he often acted 
queerly. He was always nervous and excitable. 
What reasons could his roommate have for tell¬ 
ing Dorothy about the Pelican safe’s being 


30 


BLIND BROTHERS 


robbed! He and Powell bad never bad 
so mncb as a single disagreement that be 
could remember. He, Hammond, bad often 
played the part of older brother to Powell. Les 
had always been weak. More than once Gil bad 
extricated the fellow from compromising situa¬ 
tions into which Powell’s light-heartedness bad 
drawn bim. 

Could it be jealousy! Gil discarded tbe 
thought. While Powell had gone in for foot¬ 
ball, be, himself, bad starred in track and base¬ 
ball. Powell was as popular on the campus as 
he was, although in a different way, and had as 
much influence in their fraternity. 

Could Powell be jealous of him about Doro¬ 
thy! True, Gil recalled, Powell had “fallen 
for” Dorothy during his freshman year, when 
Gil and the girl were sophomores; but then, 
nearly all tbe fellows on tbe campus bad under¬ 
gone a similar experience at one time or an¬ 
other; and, like the others, Powell had seem¬ 
ingly accepted Hammond’s appropriation of 
the girl as a matter-of-course. 

But if his roommate had not been scattering 
tbe information, who had! Could Powell have 
stolen the baseball funds, in order to incrimi¬ 
nate bim! Hammond did not believe it. His 
roommate was not tbe kind of fellow to plot 
deliberately and carry out a crime of that sort. 
He drifted with circumstances—never made an 
attempt to alter those circumstances. Besides, 
wbat chance bad there been for Powell to re¬ 
move the funds! 

Tbe dinner bell chimed, interrupting bis 
dazed fragmentary trend of thought, and me¬ 
chanically be descended to tbe dining-room. 


BLIND BBOTHEBS 


31 


The place was strangely silent; there was an 
air of constraint about the fellows which he 
noted vaguely, wondering in a dazed fashion 
at the absence of the accustomed boisterous 
greetings and banter. The singing of the fra¬ 
ternity song, which always preceeded the eve¬ 
ning meal, was listless, forced. 

Hammond ate his dinner from sheer force of 
habit, not because he realized that he was hun¬ 
gry. Once or twice he addressed the fellows 
to his right and left with listless questions. 
Both answered in monosyllables. At the end of 
the meal the house president arose and an¬ 
nounced that there would be a business meeting 
immediately after dinner, requesting that all 
the members be present, and that those who did 
not live at the chapter house be notified by tele¬ 
phone. He then informed Gil that it was the 
wish of the brothers that he should not attend 
the meeting. 

Somewhat astonished, Hammond went to his 
room; but he gave the matter little considera¬ 
tion, thinking that Powell had probably called 
the meeting to tell the others of the theft of the 
baseball funds, and to ask aid of the fraternity 
in relieving the unpleasant situation. 

He thought of his own suspicions in regard 
to Powell and was ashamed of them. For more 
than an hour he sat waiting for his roommate 
to come in and tell him of the action of the 
others, but Powell did not come. This new 
situation began to drive the others from his 
mind. What did the fellows mean, anyway? 
While he did not doubt the loyalty of his fra¬ 
ternity, he was astonished at this secrecy. Why 
had the fellows kept him from the meeting? 


32 


BLIND BROTHERS 


They couldn’t possibly believe him guilty of the 
theft of the baseball funds. A week ago any 
one of them would have thought any such sug¬ 
gestion a huge joke. 

Finally he went to bed, tossed for two hours, 
and then fell into a troubled doze. When he 
awoke the house was not yet astir. Powell had 
not yet returned. Gil arose to dress. 

When Dr. England arrived at the chapter 
room of the fraternity the meeting had been 
in progress over an hour. The doctor thanked 
the young man who had conducted him to a seat 
and turned to survey the room. Practically 
the entire quota of fratres in universitate, be¬ 
sides several alumni, were present, he noted. 

Hadley, the house president, also the son of 
the Dean of Engineering, addressed the doctor. 

“Dr. England, you are aware of the purpose 
of this meeting, I believe. In regard to the de¬ 
tails of the action which has just been taken, it 
is hardly necessary to remind you that every 
brother is pledged to the secrecy of the grave. 

“Upon careful consideration of the evidence 
presented, the fraternity has voted to take the 
situation into its own hands, that Mr. Ham¬ 
mond’s name be struck from the rolls of the fra¬ 
ternity, and has further decided that we as a 
fraternity recommend to the faculty of the 
University that he be expelled from the institu¬ 
tion. We shall assume the responsibility for 
the loss of the baseball funds. 

“Let me say further, sir, that we all fully 
realize the gravity of the step which we have 
been forced to take. Never before in the annals 
of the fraternity has such a step been necessary. 




BLIND BROTHERS 


33 


Never has such a blot been on the name of one 
of its members. While we are all deeply 
grieved by the necessity of such a step, the 
evidence of the guilt of Mr. Hammond is over¬ 
whelming. In order to preserve the good name 
of the fraternity, which we all love and honor, 
this action has been deemed necessary. 

“In deference to you, sir, as the oldest pres¬ 
ent member of the fraternity, we shall be grate¬ 
ful for a few words of approval of the action 
which we have taken.” 

The young man was manifestly deeply 
moved by the situation. It was equally evident 
that he considered that the action of the fra¬ 
ternity had been justified. 

As the president spoke an expression of hor¬ 
ror and unbelief came upon the features of the 
old doctor. He arose unsteadily. 

“Gentlemen—brothers—” he began. His 
voice trembled with emotion; his wrinkled hands 
shook and quivered. He steadied himself by 
grasping the back of a chair, and continued: 
“Do you realize the seriousness, the horrible 
meaning of this step which you have taken? 
Do you realize that the curse of Cain itself 
could not be more damning than that which, as 
a fraternity, you have pronounced on this young 
man whom you have called ‘brother’? Have 
you considered the fact, my brothers, that in 
every chapter house in America, to every mem¬ 
ber of the fraternity in the country—and there 
are hundreds—this young man’s good name will 
become a thing of contempt and mockery; that 
in every university and college in the United 
States—for these things travel, no matter what 
oaths of secrecy you may require—his name 


34 


BLIND BROTHERS 


shall be a plaything for the gossip of the stu¬ 
dent body? Do yon realize that this action of 
yours shall be seized upon by every rival fra¬ 
ternity in this institution, or in the country, as 
a stain with which to smirch the good name of 
this organization? 

“You do well to pledge me to secrecy. Gen¬ 
tlemen, I blush to mention—I blush to think of 
this action which you have taken. It is a 
ghastly mistake—I repeat it—it is damnable! 

“You speak of the name of the fraternity. 
What does that name, 4 Fraternity, ’ mean, I ask 
you? You answer, 4 Brotherhood.’ But I de¬ 
mand of you: Is this brotherhood, is this the 
spirit of fraternity which you are showing in 
condemning your brother in this manner ? 

4 4 If Mr. Hammond has done this thing—and 
I am ready to stake my honor that he has not 
—I ask you, is it a spirit of brotherhood which 
bids you condemn him? If our brother has 
fallen, give him the helping hand of fellowship ; 
but let me once more beg and entreat you, as an 
old man who has always loved, honored and 
cherished the fraternity, not to spoil the life 
and blight the future of one of your brothers, 
in this fashion. 

4 4 Mr. President, let me beg of you to recon¬ 
sider this action! ’ ’ 

The old man sat down, mopping his face with 
his handkerchief as he gazed around the silence- 
stricken room. An alumnus of the fraternity, 
one of the prominent bankers of Oakland, arose. 

44 Dr. England,’’ he said, “I am sure that I 
express the sentiment of the fraternity when 
I say that I honor and admire you for the stand 
you have taken in regard to Hammond. But 


BLIND BROTHERS 


35 


-rom your words I am certain that you do not 
understand the facts of the case which have 
been brought out during the meeting. 

“Doctor, Brother Powell, the roommate of 
Mr. Hammond, has confessed to a personal 
knowledge. that Hammond took the baseball 
funds. This statement has been amply verified 
by the other evidence. 

“Were it not for the fact that this action 
was deliberately premeditated, and that Ham¬ 
mond is himself a man past the stage of school¬ 
boy pranks, I should, like you, recommend a re¬ 
consideration. But Doctor, and gentlemen, a 
blot is already upon the name of the fraternity. 
Hammond has knowingly and deliberately 
placed that blot there. He should have to pay. 
Definite and decisive action on our part is the 
only means of wiping out the stain. 

“Furthermore, Doctor, is it fair to ask these 
young men to continue to associate on terms of 
brotherhood with a man who has been proved 
a thief? 

“Gentlemen, in the face of the facts pre¬ 
sented, I wish to urge that the action of the 
fraternity in this matter be upheld.” 

The doctor arose once more, his eyes fixed on 
Powell, who sat gazing, white-faced, at the floor. 
The old man started to speak, hesitated, choked. 
He sank into his chair and buried his face in 
his hands. 


Clad in his bathrobe and bedroom slippers, 
with shaving materials in his hands, Hammond 
opened the door of his room and started for 



36 


BLIND BROTHERS 


\ 


the bathroom at the end of the halL On the 
floor outside the doorway he found a letter ad¬ 
dressed to himself, on the business stationery 
of the fraternity, together with a small package 
bearing his name in the unmistakable handwrit¬ 
ing of Dorothy Paige. The package contained 
his fraternity pin. He crushed the box in his 
hand and dropped it into the pocket of his bath¬ 
robe. 

Turning back into the room he opened the 
letter and read: 

“Mr. Gilbert Hammond, 

‘ 1 Dear sir:— 

“It is the will and pleasure of the frater¬ 
nity that I inform you that, as a result of 
your actions in regard to the baseball funds, 
the fraternity has deemed it necessary to 
drop your name from the roll, and to request 
that you vacate your present room at the 
earliest possible date. 

‘ ‘ I am furthermore requested to inform you 
that the fraternity has, as a result of the in¬ 
vestigation held last night, taken the matter 
into its own hands, and will request the fac¬ 
ulty that you be suspended from the Univer¬ 
sity without any further investigation on 
their part. 

“This action has been deemed necessary 
by the brothers and alumni of the fraternity, 
in order that the good name of the organiza¬ 
tion shall remain as it has always been, un¬ 
stained before the world. 

(Signed) “ J. C. Hadley, House President.” 
Hammond crushed the letter in his hand, then 
opened it and reread it. He was staggered, 
dazed. It was impossible—unbelievable. He 


BLIND BROTHERS 


37 


sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to 
think. Was this some terrible dream from 
which he was awakening! He looked at the 
letter. It was real. 

Mechanically he arose and taking his shav¬ 
ing materials, went to the bathroom and com¬ 
pleted his toilet. Returning to his room he 
dressed, hardly conscious of what he was doing. 
He sat down once more on the edge of the bed 
and buried his face in his hands. He was stun¬ 
ned. His universe had fallen apart. There was 
nothing ahead—nothing—nothing. He was a 
renegade among his fellows, an object of scorn, 
of contempt. He was accused of a crime he did 
not commit. The girl to whom he had been en¬ 
gaged had scorned him, refusing all explana¬ 
tions! The men whom he had called brothers 
for the past three years would henceforth avoid 
his name as something vile; but they would not 
forget! The university that he had learned 
to love for all the things that it had come to 
mean to him was driving him from her doors 
as a wretch too vile even for the punishment 
which she was accustomed to deal to those who 
came under the ban of her displeasure! Every 
friend who had come to honor and respect him 
would be forced to wince at the mere mention 
of his name! 

Slowly the terrible meaning of the future 
which yawned before him, a stark sinister abyss, 
devoid of honor, of friends, of all the things 
which had come to mean life itself to him, sank 
into his consciousness. Who had done this 
thing! Powell! 

Powell! The name sent a thrill of hatred 
tingling through his stunned senses. Like the 


38 


BLIND BBOTHERS 


images of a picture on the screen, the memories 
of his roommate’s face flashed before him. He 
saw Les as he sat cringing before the committee, 
denying the thing that would have helped to 
prove his, Hammond’s, innocence! The man 
had been afraid, afraid—while he himself had 
been calm! 

With his mind’s eyes, Gil saw his roommate 
as Powell stood by the fireplace while he him¬ 
self had telephoned to Dorothy. He remem¬ 
bered the covert glances which Powell had given 
him. Les had known—the damned, trembling, 
sneaking Judas! 

Hammond arose and clinched his hands. He 
dashed through the door and into the hall. 

“Powell, you damned sneaking traitor, come 
out!” he yelled. He jerked open the door of a 
room and rushing in, pulled the inmates from 
the bed. 

“Where is Powell?” he yelled. “Bring out 
that damned sneak! ’ ’ 

Like a madman he rushed from room to 
room. He could not find Powell. Two of his 
former fraternity brothers tried to hold him. 
He knocked one into a corner and threw the 
other against the hall banister. The one ob¬ 
session filled his brain—to find Powell! He 
searched the house. Powell -was not to be found. 

Hammond became conscious of the others as 
they stood about in their nightclothes, their 
faces white and unbelieving. 

‘ ‘ Get into the chapter room, you damned fair- 
weather sneaks!” he shouted. They made no 
move to obey him. He turned to the fireplace 
and wrenched a baseball bat from a trophy col- 


BLIND BROTHERS 


39 


lection over the mantle. Hadley stepped for¬ 
ward and grasped him by the arm. 

“Drop that, Hammond!” he commanded 
sharply. “If yon want a hearing you can get 
it.” 

Hammond wrenched free and looked at Had¬ 
ley. He did not flinch. Here was a man, Gil 
realized, who at least believed himself to be in 
the right. He dropped the hat and led the way 
to the chapter room. As Hadley started to take 
the chair Hammond interrupted him. 

“None of that!” he said. “Don’t think for 
a moment that you are giving me a hearing. 
The time for that is past. In this room last 
night you condemned me without a hearing, to 
something which would be worse than death to 
any of you. You gave me no chance to deny 
the charge. You took the word of that damned 
sneak, Powell, who hasn’t the manhood—the 
guts—to be here and back up his lies. I’m not 
here to deny them now. I scorn to deny them! 

“You called yourselves my brothers—swore 
to abide by the ties of fellowship and fra¬ 
ternity which hound us together. Brothers! 
You are a set of damned fair-weather brothers! 
Fraternity! You are too weak-brained to com¬ 
prehend the meaning of the word! The good 
name of the fraternity! In your damned snob¬ 
bish simplicity you hide behind the barrier of 
a name, and forget the meaning of that name! 

“You are a set of weak-kneed, weak-brained, 
self-centered, egotistical snobs—fair-weather 
friends! You don’t know the meaning of the 
word ‘fraternity’! Is there any one of you 
who wants to deny it?” 


40 BLIND BROTHERS 

He stood gazing from one to another. No 
one spoke. 

“Well,” he asked, “do you take it!” 

Hadley stepped forward. 

“No,” he said, “I deny it. So does every 
other member of the fraternity.” 

Hammond clinched his fist, but the other 
held up his hand. 

‘ ‘ None of that, ’ ’ Hadley said quietly. ‘ ‘ Ham¬ 
mond, I’ll admit that we have been pretty hasty 
in this thing. I think that the fellows are ready 
to agree with me that you should have had a 
hearing. But it isn’t too late. For God’s sake, 
if you have any proof of your innocence, give 
it to us. Give us your word of honor that you 
are not guilty, and we shall withhold our recom¬ 
mendation to the faculty. Be sensible, and meet 
us halfway in this thing, and we ’ll do all in our 
power to straighten it out. ’ ’ 

Hammond laughed at him. 

“ No! ” he said. “ No! You have repudiated 
me; I repudiate you! I don’t want your help. 
You think that you have ruined my life. I’ll 
show you. I can get along in the world without 
your fair-weather friendship. To hell with you 
all!” 

He turned on his heel and went to his room. 
Going directly to the small clothes closet which 
he had used in common with Powell, he jerked 
out his trunk and began piling clothes from the 
hooks on the walls into the center of the floor. 
These he threw into the trunk, slammed it to¬ 
gether and tightened the straps. He piled the 
contents of a bureau drawer into a suitcase and 
tossed a few necessities into a traveling bag. 

The door opened and Hadley entered. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


41 


4 ‘ Gil,’ ’ he begged, ‘ 1 let me talk to you. ’ ’ 
Hammond regarded him for a moment coldly. 
‘* Get out ! ’ ’ he ordered. 

Hadley turned and left the room. 


N 


IV 


Hammond finished his packing and went 
downstairs. Unmindful of the curious glances 
of his former fraternity brothers, now assem¬ 
bled at the breakfast table, he went directly to 
the telephone and gave a number. 

“Hello!” he called sharply. “May I speak 
with Miss Dorothy Paige ?” 

After a few moments a faint “Hello!” came 
over the wire. 

‘ ‘ Hello !’ 9 he returned crisply. ‘ ‘ Is this Miss 
Paige speaking ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“This is Gil Hammond. I am leaving the 
University today—for good. I should like very 
much to see you for a few moments before I 
go. Will you allow me to call, or meet me on 
the campus ?’ 1 

“No.” 

11 Thank you!’ ’ 

He hung up the receiver and left the room, 
his head up, his face coldly determined. On the 
way down the street he met Dr. England. The 
old man grasped him by the hand. 

“Gil, my son—” he began brokenly. 

“It’s all right, Doc,” returned Hammond. 

‘‘I know it all, and it’s still all right. One thing 
I want to ask you. Did Powell testify openly 
to my guilt; or did he make it stick with his 
damned lying insinuations 1 ’ ’ 

“My son, I was not present when Powell gave 
his testimony. I am under an oath of secrecy; 

42 


BLIND BROTHERS 


43 


but to me you will always be a member of the 
fraternity. I do not hesitate to tell you that 
it was your roommate’s testimony which caused 
this step to be taken. 

‘ i But they must not do this thing. They must 
give you a hearing—they must withhold that 
recommendation to the faculty. It is a crime, 
an outrage—” 

“Oh, they offered to give me a hearing this 
morning,” Hammond replied. “Hadley even 
offered to withhold the recommendation.” 

“Then you are not leaving school? You will 
fight this contemptible charge?” 

“No. The time when I would have accepted 
a hearing is past. I don’t want their help. I 
never want to see or hear of one of them again. 
Doctor, I’m going to show them that I can suc¬ 
ceed in the world without their help or friend¬ 
ship. If I am not man enough to meet the world 
without being backed by the empty sham of a 
name, the meaning of which they have made a 
hollow mockery, I do not deserve to succeed. 

“Doctor, I loved the fraternity—it was 
everything to me; but I thought the word meant 
brotherhood, fellowship. They have shown me 
that it is merely a name to cover their petty 
narrow-mindedness and selfishness. I hate 
them! I pray to God I may never look into 
one of their faces again! 

“And as for Powell—damn him!—he shall 
pay for what he has done, if it takes a lifetime.” 

“Try not to be so bitter, my son. It will do 
you more harm than it will the others. Andlet 
me beg of you to stay here and fight this thing 
out. It can be cleared up. You owe it to your¬ 
self to do this. 


44 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“Go away for a few hours, alone, and try 
to calm yourself and think things out. Remem¬ 
ber that you are not to blame—that it is all a 
horrible mistake. Try not to be too hard on 
the boys. They are young, and like yourself, 
hot-headed. If you prove to them that you are 
innocent they will be heartbroken over the ac¬ 
tion which they have taken. Remember that 
they are merely boys. Most of them are not old 
enough to comprehend the vital things of life. 

“Go think it over, Gil, my son.” 

“No, Doc. Even though they were to rein¬ 
state me—even though they were to come and 
beg me to stay, I couldn’t do it. Everything 
that the place has ever meant to me has been 
shown to be a mockery. I hate it. I’m going 
to leave—now, before I meet Lester Powell and 
kill him.” 

“Have you any definite plans!” asked the 
old doctor. 

“No; I’m going to San Francisco. I’ll get a 
job and cool down for a while. Then I’ll know 
what to do and how to face things. All that I 
know now is that I want to get away from here 
and never see the place again. ’ ’ 

The old man looked at Hammond for a mo¬ 
ment. 

“Perhaps it is just as well that you get away 
for a while,” he admitted finally. Taking a 
card from his pocket he scribbled a few words 
on it and gave it to the young man. 

“Take that to James Stanley, in the 
Spreckles Building, ’ ’ he said. ‘ * I think that he 
will give you something to do. 

“And above all things, don’t brood or fret 
over this thing. It is overwhelming, appalling, 


BLIND BROTHERS 


45 


I know; but it isn’t big enough for you to let it 
spoil your life. Tell Stanley that I sent you. 
I ’ll call him up and have a talk with him. ’ ’ 

They had reached the street where the doctor 
turned off. He stopped and held out his hand. 

“It is better for you to leave at once,” he 
said. “I can see that. If you should meet 
Powell don’t speak to him. That is the better 
way. And remember that the old man hasn’t 
lost faith in you yet and won’t forget you. Let 
me know how you are getting along, or if I can 
help you in any way. 

44 God bless you, my son. ’ ’ 

44 Thank you, Doc,” the young man replied. 
4 4 If you had gone with the others there wouldn’t 
have been anything left. You may be sure that 
I won’t forget.” 

He grasped the hand which the older man ex¬ 
tended, and winced as he did so; for he realized 
that Dr. England had given him the grip of the 
fraternity which had blotted his name from its 
roll. 

On the way downtown, Hammond directed a 
delivery wagon to call for his baggage and leave 
it at the Southern Pacific Station until he called 
for it. He caught the next train to San Fran¬ 
cisco. He had a sister residing in the city— 
his only living relative. He must tell her—but 
first he would get a job. 

The prospect of going to work did not worry 
him. He had always worked during his vaca¬ 
tions. One summer he had spent reporting for 
one of the big San Francisco dailies; another 
he had worked as chain man on a surveying 
party in New Mexico; and the preceding sum¬ 
mer he had spent in the Forest Service, near 


46 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Lake Tahoe. He operated a typewriter and 
could, if called upon to do so, do office work, al¬ 
though he preferred something in the line of 
engineering. 

To his immediate future Gil gave little 
thought. Two things loomed before all others 
in his mind—first, to even the score with Pow¬ 
ell; and then to prove to his former fraternity 
brothers that he could succeed in the world, de¬ 
spite the handicap of their repudiation. 

From the Ferry Building we walked up Mar¬ 
ket Street to the Spreckles Building. On the 
directory he found the name, ‘ 4 Stanley & Wil¬ 
cox, Real Estate.’’ He glanced at the business 
caption without interest. That was as good as 
anything, for the present, he thought as he took 
the elevator. He entered the w T aiting room of 
the suite marked 4 ‘Stanley & Wilcox,” and 
gave Dr. England’s card to the stenographer 
who met him. 

“I’d like to see Mr. Stanley,” he told her. 
She took the card and disappeared into the 
inner office. 

“Mr. Stanley will see you now,” she told him 
a moment later. 

Mr. Stanley was about fifty years old, with 
a neatly pointed beard and hair lightly tinged 
with gray. As Hammond entered he arose and 
held out his hand. 

“I am James Stanley,” he said. “I shall be 
more than pleased to do anything in my power 
for anyone who brings an introduction from Old 
Tom England.” 

Hammond winced for the second time that 
day as he realized that this man also was giv¬ 
ing him the grip of his former fraternity. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


47 


“Hammond is my name,” he said. “I am 
looking for a job, Mr. Stanley. Dr. England 
told me that you might be able to put me in 
touch with something. ’’ 

“Yes, I think that it can be arranged. You 
have any trouble with ordinary office work. ’ ’ 

“Yes, sir. I worked the summer before en¬ 
tering the University in the office of Stokes & 
Mason, and since then I have worked off-and-on 
in the Registrar’s Office at the University. I 
am familiar with the use of a typewriter, under¬ 
stand stenography fairly well and am pretty 
accurate at accounts. I don’t think that I shall 
have any trouble with ordinary office work.” 

“H—m,” grunted the other. “Let me see. 
I might use you here for a month or so. I am 
pretty hard-pressed as it is. Mr. Wilcox is in 
Los Angeles at the present time. We are plan¬ 
ning to open a branch office in San Jose in a 
few months; and if you can do the work, we 
might use you there. 

“You belong to the old fraternity, I see.” 

He glanced at the ring which Hammond had 
worn since his freshman year. He had not yet 
thought to take it off. His face burning, he 
slowly drew the ring from his finger. 

“No, Mr. Stanley,” he said huskily. “Be¬ 
fore taking any position which you might care 
to offer me, I see that it will be necessary for 
me to tell you that I no longer belong to the 
fraternity. I was expelled from that organiza¬ 
tion last*night; and left the University today 
upon their recommendation to the faculty that 
I be dismissed. 

“Despite the fact that I am innocent of the 
charge with which they accused me, I realize 


48 


BLIND BROTHERS 


now the position in which it places me. Dr. 
England did wrong in sending me to you.’’ 

He arose. The older man was amazed. 

“But I don’t understand — 93 he. hesitated. 
“If Tom England knew this, why did he send 
you to me, might I ask, Mr. Hammond? In the 
business world, one has to be very careful, you 
yourself realize that. 

“Under the circumstances, or at least, until 
I know more of the circumstances, I’m afraid 
that I shall have to withdraw my offer. This 
affair is very unusual—very astonishing, in¬ 
deed ! ” 

“I understand your point of view perfectly, 
Mr. Stanley,” said Hammond. “Only the cir¬ 
cumstances are just as I told you. There isn’t 
any more to tell. Thank you! ’ ’ 

He bowed, picked up the card which Dr. Eng¬ 
land had given him and left the room. Catch¬ 
ing a car up Market Street, he went directly 
to the home of his sister, who lived on Sanchez 
Street. 

His sister had graduated from the University 
three years before. She had married one of 
her classmates, a young man named Hughes 
who was now employed as sales manager in one 
of the city department stores. Both Mrs. 
Hughes and her husband had been steeped in 
university traditions. They mingled with the 
younger alumni set who lived in the city. How 
would they receive his news, Hammond won¬ 
dered? He dreaded the ordeal of telling them. 

His sister met him at the door. Her face 
showed surprise at seeing him. 

“Why, Gil,” she asked, “I thought that you 
returned to Berkeley last night?” She searched 


BLIND BROTHERS 


49 


his face anxiously. “There isn’t anything 
wrong, is there, Gil! You aren’t ill, are you!” 

Hammond caught a glimpse of his own fea¬ 
tures in the hall mirror. He hardly recognized 
himself. Well might she ask the question. 

“No, Sis. I’m not ill. There is nothing the 
matter with me. I have been expelled from the 
University, for stealing funds.” 

Horror and amazement overspread her fea¬ 
tures. 

“Oh, Gil,” she sobbed, “how could you do it! 
Ralph and I are trying so hard! Oh, we shall 
be disgraced forever!” 

He gave her a look of mingled contempt and 
pity. Even she, his sister! Was there no one 
in the world who had faith enough to ask him 
whether or not he had done the thing! Involun¬ 
tarily he thought of the old doctor. He, the only 
one of them all who had had a little faith—faith 
even the size of a grain of mustard seed! Gil 
remembered the old figure from his Sunday 
School days. How long ago that had been! 

“I don’t know whether or not it will mean 
anything to you, Sis,” he said at last, “but I’d 
like to tell you that I didn’t do it, anyway. I 
wish you would try to believe me innocent, if 
you can.” 

“Oh, but it’s terrible—terrible!” she con¬ 
tinued to sob. ‘ ‘ But you must have done some¬ 
thing, Gil. You must have—” 

“Yes, I bet two hundred dollars on the Wash¬ 
ington game. ’ ’ 

‘ 1 Oh, I knew that there was something. But 
where did you get two hundred dollars—with 
you working your way! How are you going 
to repay the money! Oh, I’ll ask Ralph to let 


50 


BLIND BROTHERS 


you have it—anything to keep us all from being 
disgraced! Oh Gil, I never thought that you 
could do it!” 

So she thought that he was there to beg 
money, in order that he might get himself out 
of it. 

“That won’t be necessary, Sis,” he told her 
quietly. “There’s one thing that you have to 
be thankful for, at least. I’m not going to stay 
‘ around and be a reminder of the disgrace. 
“Good-by. ” 

He held out his hand. 

She arose. “But where are you going? You 
can’t run away from it, Gil. Try—try to 
straighten it out, for our sakes, if not for your 
own.” 

i ‘1 don’t know where I am going. It doesn’t 
matter, anyway. There isn’t anything else that 
can be done. Try not to think too hard of me, 
Sis.” 

He pressed her hand and walked rapidly 
away. At the end of the block he turned and 
waved at her, standing as he had left her, dazed 
and uncomprehending in the doorway. 


V 


Hammond boarded a ferry car and caught 
the Oakland boat. On board the boat he 
dropped to a bench near the rail and sat gazing 
out across the bay. His thoughts were racing 
madly. Vainly he tried to collect them—to 
grasp the full meaning of the circumstances 
which had crumpled his little world about him. 

Yesterday he was a care-free boy who had 
never known the meaning of the word i i trag¬ 
edy.” True, he had been doing man’s work; 
but it had been mere play to him, a part of 
the game—the necessary part which had en¬ 
abled the game to continue. All the petty trials 
and worries had been overshadowed by the 
sheer joy of living. Time enough for worry, he 
had thought, after graduation. Then he would 
throw himself into the business of life, and he 
would make good—for Dorothy Paige. Each 
day he had accepted as it came, with its pleas¬ 
ures and its petty worries. While he had never 
slighted his work at the University—had, in 
fact, stood high in all his classes and had been 
a prominent factor in the University life—Ham¬ 
mond had never been forced to take life seri¬ 
ously. Everything had come too easily. Worry 
had seemed superfluous. 

Now, as he gazed out across the bay toward 
Oakland, through the gathering mist the old 
tower loomed up like the mocking shadow of 
his dead yesterdays. Over on the Berkeley 
Hills he could make out the location of the big 

51 


52 


BLIND BROTHERS 


concrete * ‘ C ’’ which he had guarded during his 
freshman year from the dreaded ravages of the 
foe from down Stanford way. California, his 
University! 

Hammond had come to love the old Univer¬ 
sity during the past three years. It had become 
a sort of home to him. With no near relatives 
except his sister, he had no ties which bound 
him to a home. The University and his fra¬ 
ternity had come to take the place of these. 
All his intimate friends were among the Uni¬ 
versity students; all his dearest memories were 
associated with its environment. 

He had come to look upon Lester Powell, de¬ 
spite the fellow’s weakness, more as a brother 
than as a friend. Gil had felt a kind of respon¬ 
sibility for him. The others had accepted his 
4 4 looking after ’ ’ Les as a matter-of-course. He 
had believed that Powell possessed something 
of the same feeling for him. 

Dorothy Paige had been the means of kin¬ 
dling not only the rosy fires of his young man¬ 
hood’s dreams, hut also of lighting fires of his 
ambition. She had been the goal ahead, had 
given him something to work and fight and live 
for. After graduation in June he was to have 
taken up that fight. But June was at hand and 
there would be no graduation—for him. And 
there would be no fight. 

Dorothy had scorned him. His fraternity 
had expelled him. His sister believed him 
guilty of a crime he did not commit. His friend 
had proved a traitor and had made him an ob¬ 
ject of contempt and scorn. His University had 
repudiated him! His University! Yesterday 
it had been his University. Today he was an 


BLIND BROTHERS 


53 


outcast. The Italian deck-hand, standing at 
the bow of the ferry, had as much claim on the 
institution as did he who had never by word or 
deed brought a stain upon its good name. 

His fraternity—his brothers! Light-headed 
self-satisfied snobs! At the first sign of trouble, 
in the very first instance when he had needed 
their friendship they had cast him adrift! 

Hammond clinched his hands and set his jaw. 
An outcast, was he ? Well, he would show them! 
He could live without their friendship. He was 
still a man—innocent of the thing with which 
he had been charged. There was still a place 
in the world for men. And Powell, the sneak, 
would pay for his treachery. If it took a life¬ 
time in which to make him do it, Powell should 
answer. That itself was something to live and 
fight for. Then there was Old Doc. The old man 
had not lost faith in him. Of them all, he alone 
had remained a friend, a brother. That, too, 
was worth fighting for. Yes, he would fight it 
out. But where? How? Hammond did not 
know or care. 

In the station at Oakland Gil sat down once 
more and tried to plan his future course of ac¬ 
tion. One thing was certain; he would not re¬ 
main in California. He recalled his conversa¬ 
tion with Christy, on the Sunday before, when 
the engineer had told him of the Montana oil 
fields and their prospects. He would be un¬ 
known there. If he did not care for the work 
in the oil fields, there would be something else. 
Yes, he would go north. If nothing better 
turned up he could go to work in the oil fields. 
It did not matter. Nothing mattered now. 

Hammond still had most of the three hun- 


54 


BLIND BROTHERS 


dred dollars from his army bonus. He bought 
a ticket and checked his trunk to Spokane. His 
sleeper was already on the tracks. He found 
the car and leaning back against the cushions 
in his section, abandoned himself to the bitter 
turmoil of his thoughts. 

Previous to this crisis, Gil Hammond’s phil¬ 
osophy of life, if he might be said to have pos¬ 
sessed such a philosophy, had been one of 
acceptance. He had taken life and people as 
they came, confident that they would always 
measure up to his expectations as they had done 
in the past. There had been no need of a defi¬ 
nitely formulated scheme of existence for him. 
His life had automatically shaped itself to meet 
the conditions as they were, and he had been 
satisfied with those conditions. He would fol¬ 
low the pattern laid out by so many of his 
fellows—marry Dorothy Paige when he had 
become financially able to do so, pursue his 
chosen vocation, engineering, and continue to 
live in the old set, each of whom would follow 
much the same plan. 

Such a scheme of life called for no philoso¬ 
phy. It would be merely a matter of following 
the beaten trail. Hammond had never given 
much thought to the deeper meanings of life, 
nor to the rules governing one’s relations with 
one’s fellows. They had all seemed definitely 
marked and fixed. There had been nothing for 
him to do but accept conditions as they were. 
Life had seemed good to him. He had been 
satisfied with it. 

He had never given any close study to his 
fellow students and fraternity brothers. They 
had accepted him; he accepted them. He had 


BLIND BROTHERS 


55 


not looked for motives behind actions, nor 
weighed characters. The fact that they “be¬ 
longed” had been sufficient. 

In much the same fashion he had come to ac¬ 
cept Dorothy Paige. They had been congenial. 
She, with her beauty, tact and wit had always 
proved a delightful partner. She had harmon¬ 
ized with his ideals of what a girl should be. 
He had grown to admire her—more than that; 
she had come to be a habit with him, the cen¬ 
tral figure in the pattern by which he had plan¬ 
ned to build his life. In all outward respects 
she had been ideal. Hammond had not known 
or cared to look deeper. 

Hammond was not without ideals; no young 
man is. But, like those of so many others, 
young and old, his ideals had been mere ab¬ 
stractions — ‘ ‘ loyalty, ” “ justice,” “ truth, ’’ 

“love,” “friendship,” “faith,” “brother¬ 
hood.” These abstractions had been like fixed 
stars in the firmament of his philosophy of ac¬ 
ceptance. There had been no deviation in any 
of them. Faith was faith; there was no inter¬ 
mediate stage. Brotherhood, loyalty, justice, 
meant just that. There could be no extenuating 
circumstances—no excuse for those who broke 
the law. Hammond’s law was the old law of 
the Judges and the Prophets. He had not yet 
learned to fit his trite abstractions to life, be¬ 
cause he had not come in contact with life. In 
many things he was tolerant, even lax; but those 
which he termed the ‘ i big things ’ ’ were inviola¬ 
ble. 

And now all the stars in his firmament had 
proved to be will-o’-the-wisps. His justice, 
friendship, loyalty, faith—what were they? 


56 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Empty words—the mocking memories of a 
fool’s dream! Brotherhood! He winced at 
the word. Of them all that had meant the most 
to him. It had been the symbol of all that had 
made his life worth while at the University; and 
that symbol had proved to be the bony skeleton 
of an outstretched hand and an empty skull, 
grinning at him from the shield of a fraternity 
emblem! 

Was there no reality in life, no truth, justice, 
brotherhood? He thought of Dr. England. 
Was the old man duped, fooled at the meanings 
of life, as he, Hammond, had been? 

Yes, there was a reality—hatred—a burning, 
aching reality! Hammond had never felt it be¬ 
fore. It surged through his consciousness in 
waves of fierce desire, causing the hot blood 
to pulse and flow and his hands to clinch and 
open in spasmodic reflexes. 

Unconscious of the passing of time, he sat 
alone in his section, wrapped in the galling bit¬ 
terness of his thoughts. Twilight came and 
gradually faded into darkness. A porter en¬ 
tered and switched on the lights, but Gil was 
unmindful of the change. At last he became 
conscious that others were crowding into the 
adjacent sections and filling the car with the 
drone of their conversation. 

Finally a bell clanged. The train began to 
move. He sat up. As it slowly rumbled 
through the Oakland yards and plowed into the 
darkness Hammond realized that he was leaving 
his old life behind—utterly. The future 
stretched ahead like the darkness, empty and 
foreboding. What did it hold for him? 

Hammond finally aroused himself from his 


BLIND BROTHERS 


57 


lethargy. He looked at his watch. It was nine- 
thirty. The porter was already making up the 
berths for the night. Gil arose and went back 
to the smoker. He lit a cigarette and sat down 
by the wdndow. 

The smoker was empty save for himself and 
a man who was carefully brushing his teeth at 
the wash basin. Hammond glanced at him 
casually. The man was short and heavy set. 
He was in his shirt sleeves; his suspenders hung 
down from his shoulders. His collar and tie lay 
on the shelf above. A traveling man, a “ drum¬ 
mer, ” thought Hammond, as he turned and 
gazed out at the window. 

Finally the other finished his toilet and sat 
down. 

“Traveling man, buddie ?’ 1 he asked casually, 
glancing at the Legion pin on Hammond’s coat. 
Gil turned rather impatiently. He was not 
in a mood for the usual smoking room conversa¬ 
tion. 

“No. Traveling,” he returned shortly. The 
other held out a card. 

“Parks is my name,” he said easily. “The 
Great Western Knitting Mills, Salt Lake. See 
you are a Legion man. Going to Portland?” 

“Yes.” 

The other nodded. “Stopping off there my¬ 
self, ’ ’ he said. 6 ‘ Have a drink ? ” 

It was evident that the other was determined 
to be friendly. He drew a silver-mouthed flask 
from his hip pocket and held it out. Hammond 
was not in the habit of drinking, principally 
through lack of inclination, but just now the 
other’s offer seemed good to him. Perhaps the 


58 


BLIND BROTHERS 


whiskey might help him forget— He took a 
drink and held out the flask. 

“Thanks. Good stuff,’’ he said. 

“Ought to be. It’s the real thing. None of 
your home brew. Got it in ’Frisco yesterday. 
Take another. You look all in. ’ ’ 

Hammond took another. The whiskey was 
good. It had a pleasant “kick.” He thanked 
the man again. 

“Don’t mention it,” replied Parks, taking a 
drink himself. “What outfit were you in?” 
he asked. 

“Twenty-third Engineers. I was attached 
to the First Division most of the time. ’ ’ 

“That so? Must have seen some service. 
I was with the Eighth Infantry. Got in on the 
Army of Occupation for a while, after it was 
all over. Well, I think I’ll hit the hay. See 
you later.” 

Gil bade him good-night, and turned again to 
the window. Previous to the events of the past 
few days he would have accepted Parks’ actions 
at their face value, as an example of the cam¬ 
araderie of Legion men and of all travelers. 
Now he found himself weighing the man’s mo¬ 
tives, looking for some design back of his friend¬ 
liness. Parks had seemed to accept the Legion 
badge which Gil wore as a sort of fraternal 
bond between them, and had presumed upon it. 
Fraternal bond! What personal advantage was 
the traveling man seeking for himself? Gil bit 
his lips and frowned. The suggestiveness of 
the little blue and gold emblem sickened him. 
He took the pin from his lapel and thrust it into 
his vest pocket. From his recent experiences 



BLIND BROTHERS 


59 


lie was already reaping the bitter fruit of cyni¬ 
cism. 

Left alone with his thoughts, Hammond 
smoked several cigarettes. Finally he sought 
his berth, but he could not sleep. He tossed for 
two hours, finally dressed and went back to the 
observation-car platform. Seated in an arm¬ 
chair, with his feet propped on the rail, he 
watched the black silhouette of foothills as they 
glided past. Finally the monotonous pounding 
of the train quieted his overwrought nerves. 
He fell into a troubled doze. 

When he awoke it was morning. The air was 
cold. He went back to the smoker, shaved, and 
bathed his face and arms. He felt better. He 
was hungry. Finally the porter came through 
bawling the information that breakfast was 
now served in the dining car. Hammond went 
ahead and ordered a substantial breakfast. 

While he was waiting for it to be served, 
Parks, the traveling man, came in. He greeted 
Hammond heartily and dropped into the vacant 
chair opposite him. 

‘ 4 There are a couple of live birds looking 
for a poker game back in the next car, ’ ’ he told 
Gil. “How about the A. E. F. joining forces 
and trying them for a few hands ?” 

So that was Parks ’ game, thought Hammond. 
Good enough. If the other could trim him, let 
him do it. The game might serve to keep his 
mind away from bis own bitter reflections. 

Later, as they seated themselves around a 
table in the observation-car smoker, Hammond 
had a feeling close akin to pleasure as he real¬ 
ized that here was a chance to try out his newly 
acquired philosophy—the philosophy of self. 


60 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Every man should be a foe until he had proved 
himself to be a friend, each one a crook until 
he had proved to be honest. 

Coldly he studied the faces of the other three 
men around the table. Parks appeared to be 
jovial, voluable—a typical drummer. Possibly 
this was a pose. He would see. One of the 
others, a rancher obviously, from his dress, 
who had been introduced as Mr. Holt, from the 
Yakima, struck Gil as being just what he 
claimed. The fellow ’s halting speech and rather 
boorish bearing did not indicate any great in¬ 
telligence. Possibly he had been picked for a 
“sucker” by the others, as Gil had been himself. 

The third member of the group offered more 
material for consideration. He was a Jew 
named Hirsch, from Chicago, he informed them. 
He did not state his business. 

As they cut for deal Hammond watched the 
play of the Jew’s expressions. His eyes were 
small, deep-set and shifty. He seemed nerv¬ 
ously anxious as he looked at his card. 

“You win the deal,” Parks told him as the 
Jew held up a king. “What’ll it be, gentlemen 
—draw or stud?” Parks was banking. 

Holt indicated his preference for draw. The 
others appeared to be indifferent. 

“All right professor; let’er go,” said Parks. 
“Dollar limit, jack-pots, joker wild. Is that 
satisfactory, gentlemen ? ’ ’ 

Holt objected to having the joker in the deck. 
Hirsch would not consent to having it removed. 
Hammond watched them with a cold smile. 
Parks was grinning broadly. 

“Guess we’ll have to compromise by having 
the joker good for aces, straights and flushes,” 


BLIND BROTHERS 61 

he said. The others agreed to this and Hirsch 
dealt. 

Gil opened on a pair of kings, getting two tens 
in the draw. Hirsch and Holt did not stay. 
Parks drew three, called GiPs dollar bet and 
won with three jacks. He seemed greatly 
pleased with his winning. 

“Figured me for two little pair, eh, Ham¬ 
mond ?” he grinned. “Never mind; the game’s 
young yet.” 

Hirsch won the next hand on jacks and 
deuces. He had bet a quarter. Holt called 
with jacks and fours. The next few hands were 
not important. Hirsch won again, then Holt. 
Gil stayed for all of them, but did not make a 
pair. 

Three deals went without openers. 

‘ ‘ How about decorating the linoleum with one 
buck each, to make it interesting?” asked 
Parks. 

Gil and the Jew shoved in their chips. Holt 
mumbled something about not making it too 
strong, but finally anted his dollar. Hirsch 
once more had the deal. Gil watched him 
closely. The Jew shuffled nervously, Parks cut 
and Hirsch dealt clumsily, placing the pack 
close to his right hand instead of in the center. 
Gil passed and Holt opened on a pair of kings. 
All stayed. Gil drew one, Holt three, Parks two 
and Hirsch two. Holt bet a dollar. 

Gil had been watching Hirsch carefully. Sud¬ 
denly the porter looked in to see if anything was 
wanted. As Gil looked up at the porter he 
glanced back in time to see Hirsch’s right hand 
disappear beneath the edge of the table. The 
hand appeared a moment later holding a match 


62 


BLIND BE OTHER S 


which the Jew had taken from his coat pocket; 
but Gil noticed that the deck now had the top 
card—the cards were marked with the figure of 
a woman—facing the other way. Hirsch had 
stolen the top card. 

Parks raised Holt’s dollar, bet another dol¬ 
lar, and Hirsch also raised the limit. Gil had 
been watching Hirsch carefully for the appear¬ 
ance of the stolen card. Evidently it had been 
a bad one. Hirsch made no attempt to take 
it from his pocket where Gil was sure the Jew 
had slipped it. 

After a moment’s study Hammond raised the 
bet another dollar. Holt called and Parks 
raised. The Jew followed suit. Gil raised 
again. He had not called the Jew for his sus¬ 
picious move because he believed that Hirsch 
had not used the stolen card. Gil was gathering 
data. Holt, influenced by the size of the pot, 
called the raises. He hoped vaguely that the 
others were bluffing. Parks grinned and threw 
down his cards. After a moment Hirsch did 
likewise. 

Gil’s four queens took the chips; and he had 
gathered some data. 

“ Figured you for a bob-tailed straight that 
time, Hammond,” said Parks. “But when you 
came back that last, time I had a hunch that 
there was something doing. ’ ’ 

Hammond dealt. Hirsch was frowning. Holt 
seemed to be taking his loss stoically. On the 
next hand he won a fair-sized pot. Hirsch had 
to go to the bank. He cursed the cards on the 
next deal and threw down his hand. 

“How about a little action in this thing!” 


BLIND BROTHERS 


63 


he asked. 44 Want to change the limit? Let’s 
make it a man’s-size game.” 

“Sure, we’ll give you action,” grinned Parks. 
“The sky’s the limit, so far as I’m concerned. 
What say, Hammond?” 

‘ ‘ Suits me, ’ ’ Gil replied. Holt, who had prac¬ 
tically broken even so far, dropped out, but con¬ 
tinued to watch the game. 4 4 Too steep for me, ’ ’ 
he grunted by way of explanation. 

Parks dealt. With the limit removed, inter¬ 
est became more intense. Without realizing it, 
Gil became oblivious to everything except the 
game. He continued to watch Hirsch and 
Parks. The latter had lost his air of amused 
nonchalance and like the others, gave his whole 
attention to the game. 

Hirsch opened. On the draw he took two 
cards, Gil three, Parks one. Hammond had no¬ 
ticed that Parks was careful to keep the deck 
and the discards in the center of the table. His 
suspicions of the fellow began to lessen. Pos¬ 
sibly Parks was on the square after all. 

Hirsch bet ten dollars. Gil glanced at his 
cards. He had held two aces. On the draw 
he had got a jack, another ace and the joker, 
making four aces! Hirsch had asked for ac¬ 
tion. Well, he would get it! 

44 Going up ten,” Gil said carelessly as he slid 
in his chips. 

Parks ’ eyes narrowed as he studied his cards. 
He had drawn one. 

44 Good place to bluff, gents,” he said. 44 It 
will take just fifty berries to see these. Want 
to read ’em an’ weep, Hirsch?” 

The Jew’s right hand lay on the deck, his 
cards held below the edge of the table in his 


64 BLIND BROTHERS 

left. His right hand twitched nervously. Gil 
had watched him closely during the deal. So 
far, everything had been straight. 

“Come on in and get your feet wet,” Parks 
goaded. “You asked for action.’’ 

Hirsch hesitated; his hand was trembling 
more visibly. 

“No; didn't make it,” he muttered, throwing 
down his cards. 

“How about openers!” Parks asked. He 
reached over and exposed the Jew’s hand—a 
queen-full, on tens. 

Hammond reached for his chips and started 
to raise. Parks looked at him sharply and 
moved his head in a barely perceptible negative. 
Before Hammond could speak he had laid down 
his hand, a straight club flush, jack high! 

‘ 4 Knew I had you heat, Hirsch, ’ ’ he said care¬ 
lessly. “I’ve shown ’em so you’ll know I 
wasn’t bluffing. You fellows held pairs and 
threes to begin with. I had you both figured. ’ ’ 

He raked in the chips, winking at Gil as he did 
so. For a moment Hammond was dazed. 
Parks had deliberately refused to take his hun¬ 
dred dollars, if not his entire roll; for he would 
have raised fifty and called another raise by 
Parks. The salesman had upset his data; the 
Jew had verified it. 

Mechanically he dealt. This time Parks 
opened. Gil stayed for the draw and made 
three queens. He called Parks’ five-dollar bet 
and won. Parks had kings and tens. 

“Might have stood a little raise there, bud- 
die,” he told Gil. 

“Like fun, you would,” the other replied. 

Parks failed to deal openers. They “sweet- 



BLIND BROTHERS 


65 


ened” the pot and Hirsch took the pasteboards. 
Gil opened with a pair of aces. Parks failed 
to stay. Both the others drew three. Gil bet 
ten and Hirsch raised ten. A moment later 
he met GiPs twenty-dollar boost with a fifty- 
dollar one, thinking to scare Hammond out. 
Instead, Gil called and won on three kings. 

Again Hirsch threw down his cards. 

4 ‘Deal a round of stud,” he snapped. 

“Want more action?” grinned Parks. 

Hirsch did not reply. 

Gil dealt three, face down. Hirsch allowed 
his to slide over the edge of the polished table 
top and flutter to the floor. Gil saw the card; 
it was the ten of clubs. 

‘ ‘Never mind, ’ 1 he said. “ I ’ll bury the next . 11 

“Deal it face up,” Hirsch ordered. He bur¬ 
ied the first card. 

“Just as you say,” Gil returned. He dealt 
three, face up. 

‘ ‘ King bets, ’ r he said. 

Parks bet a dollar. 

Gil had a three in the hole and a seven up. 
He folded. Parks drew a jack, Hirsch an ace. 
The Jew, with an ace and ten in sight, bet five 
dollars. He had a pair of tens, thought Gil. 
Parks called. Hirsch drew a seven, Parks a 
jack, making a pair in sight. He bet ten dol¬ 
lars. Hirsch raised him ten. Parks called. Gil 
was surprised. Was the Jew bluffing? He 
drew another seven, and Parks a four. 

Hirsch now had an ace, a pair of sevens and 
a ten in sight; Parks a king, a pair of jacks and 
a four. He bet twenty-five dollars; the Jew 
raised him a hundred. Parks called, and turned 


66 BLIND BROTHERS 

up a king in the hole—two pairs, kings and 
jacks. 

Hirsch turned up—the ace of hearts! 

“Reckon I got a little action that time,” he 
grunted, as he started to rake in the chips. 

Hammond grabbed his hands and jerked him 
to his feet. 

“You had a ten of clubs in the hole,” he said. 
“I saw it fall to the floor. Cash in and get 
out! ’ ’ 

The Jew, trembling but furious, cashed in 
his few remaining chips and left the smoker 
without saying a word. The ‘ ‘ action ’’ which he 
had got had cost him the hundred and fifty dol¬ 
lars’ worth of chips which he had bought. 

“Thanks, buddie,” said Parks. “He would 
have got me that time. I knew he was crooked, 
but didn’t catch the little slight-of-hand trick . 9 ’ 

“We’re even, Parks,” returned Hammond. 
“Shake on it. You could have taken a hundred 
or more from me, on that straight flush.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t rob a buddie,” grinned the 
salesman. “Well, be seated, gentlemen. We’ll 
have an honest sociable game of penny ante or 
two-bit limit. What say, friend Holt?” 

“I’ll play with you fellers,” the rancher re¬ 
plied. “I saw that Jew tryin’ to rob the deck; 
that’s why I dropped out. I saw that ten of 
clubs, too. He got action all right. I’ll sayl 
Haw, haw!” 


Hammond arrived in Portland the following 
morning. He found that his train for Spokane 
left in half an hour, but that another would fol- 


BLIND BROTHERS 67 

low in the afternoon. He decided to take the 
former train. 

After saying good-bye to Parks and Holt he 
sat down in the waiting room. What had been 
the motive behind the salesman’s actions on 
the train? Had it been friendship, a feeling 
that they had something in common because of 
the little Legion pin and what it stood for! 
He had studied Parks’ face, and in spite of his 
recently acquired cynicism, could find nothing 
but honesty written there. Yes, there must be 
something to the idea of brotherhood after all. 
Doc England had lived up to it, and Parks had 
done likewise. But the others, his friends, his 
sweetheart—those whom he had trusted! The 
bitterness and cynicism was returning. 

He found himself studying the faces of those 
passing through, or seated around the waiting 
room. It was an interesting study. In many 
faces he could read little. In others he found 
expectancy, anxiety, eagerness. In some he saw 
pride and complacency; in a few he detected 
arrogance—scorn. What was back of these 
masks which hinted so much, and told so little! 
What thoughts were responsible for the ex¬ 
pressions! What were the motives and driv¬ 
ing impulses which had left such a variety of 
records on the features of the various persons! 

Thoughts, motives! What a part they played 
in the scheme of life! What marks they left 
on the faces of their owners! Was his own 
face marked! Hammond wondered. What 
story would the marks tell? 

He arose, and going to the men’s dressing 
room, stood in front of the mirror and studied 
his features. The face he saw was strangely 
set and unfamiliar. What a change three days 


68 


BLIND BROTHERS 


had made in his own expression. He had never 
worried abont his looks. His features were 
passably regular, there was a humorous twinkle 
in his eyes and he had been blessed with a slow 
whimsical smile. In a man that had been 
enough. 

Now the smile was gone. His lips were tight- 
pressed. His eyes had lost their sparkle; they 
were cold, steely. His cheeks were hollowed. 
Blue rings were forming under his eyes. In 
three days—three days of hell—they had done 
this to him! 

Had they? No; it had been his thoughts— 
thoughts! Who was this new Gil Hammond 
who had been created by three days of bitter¬ 
ness ? Was it himself? What a difffferent self! 
And yet, he liked this new self. It seemed 
strangely appropriate—seemed to fit in with 
his thoughts. Hammond had learned some¬ 
thing, merely an old truism, that thoughts make 
the man. 

He returned to the waiting room and con¬ 
tinued his study of faces. Presently an eastern 
train pulled in, and the usual throng of passen¬ 
gers crowded into the waiting room. An elderly 
lady who had been seated opposite him, upon 
whose face he had read the legend ‘ ‘ anxiety, ’ ’ 
arose and stood watching the doorway expec¬ 
tantly. 

A young girl entered, and the two, hurrying 
toward each other, exchanged w T arm greetings. 
As they passed where he was seated, Hammond 
caught a scrap of their conversation. 

“Were you anxious about me, Aunt Mar¬ 
garet ?” the girl asked. “I wired you from 


BLIND BROTHERS 


69 


Sand Point. Oh, but it's good to see yon 
again!’’ 

Gil did not catch the elder woman’s reply. 
His attention had been held by the face of the 
girl. It was a beautiful face; with shining eyes, 
flushed cheeks, smiling lips. How different its 
story from the ones he had read in the other 
faces; how different from the one he had read 
in his own! In it he read joy, vitality, youth. 
Its keynote was happiness. Hammond won¬ 
dered at the thoughts which had sponsored its 
smiling radiance. 

At any time he would have been attracted, 
but in his present state of morbidity he was 
doubly impressed. The girl’s expression was 
like a challenge to him. What had she to be so 
damned happy about? Where did she get all 
her blamed confidence ? There had been a sort 
of joy in his bitter reflections. Now that joy 
was gone. The girl had unconsciously spoiled 
it. He felt as though she had robbed him of 
something. He was just a little ashamed. 

After a few moments he arose and crossing 
to the newsstand, picked out a cheap magazine 
with a luridly painted cover, depicting a vil¬ 
lainous-looking man with a bloody knife in his 
hand, and a wild-eyed horror-stricken girl cling¬ 
ing to his arm. He then boarded his train which 
had just been announced. 

Throwing himself into a seat in the rear of 
the pullman, he turned the pages of the maga¬ 
zine, glowering at the weird pictures of hideous, 
distorted villains, smirking heroes and simper¬ 
ing heroines which came to view. But Gil was 
not frowning at the lack of art in the pictures, 
although he was not aware of this, nor yet be- 


70 


BLIND BROTHERS 


cause of the bitterness of his thoughts. Instead 
of the dismal figures before him, he saw another 
picture. It was a vision of joyous eager youth 
—mocking him with its confident radiance. 
And as he grimaced at the tawdry magazine 
before him Hammond frowned and bit his lip— 
and was ashamed. 


VI 


Hammond arrived in Spokane at dusk the 
following day. He went to the Coeur d'Alene 
Hotel and secured a room. But he was not 
sleepy. Wandering about the streets, he finally 
entered a motion picture place, from which he 
had heard the music of a pipe organ. He found 
a seat near the rear and moving over to the 
wall, hunched down and listened to the music. 
There was something soothing about the dark¬ 
ness of the place and the gracious swell of organ 
tones. 

He paid little attention to the picture; was 
merely conscious that the array of smartly- 
dressed figures were doing uninteresting things, 
with the conventional English country estate 
for a background; but the music left him with 
a soothed feeling close akin to pleasure. He 
was surprised to find that he was still capable 
of enjoying anything. 

But the wave of bitterness which had flooded 
his consciousness and wracked his being for the 
past few days was gradually wearing itself out. 
He was beginning to get something of a normal 
perspective on conditions as they existed. His 
normal self—not the old self; the carefree boy 
of the week before would never exist again— 
the new Gil Hammond was beginning to rise 
above the wreckage of his yesterdays. He be¬ 
gan to feel anxious to take up the daily routine 
of life once more. 

He did not leave the theatre until an ad- 

71 


72 


BLIND BROTHERS 


monishing “Good Night’’ had been flashed upon 
the screen. On the street, he became conscious 
that he was both tired and sleepy. He went to 
his room and slept soundly. 

Next morning he decided to hunt up an em¬ 
ployment agency and learn something about the 
Montana oil fields. In the advertising columns 
of the Spokesman-Review he found several 
agencies listed. The nearest was only a few 
blocks away. He would go there. 

As he walked up the street, Hammond noticed 
the legend, “Forest Service / 1 on several win¬ 
dows of a building opposite. He stopped on the 
comer for a few moments and studied the build¬ 
ing. The previous vacation he had spent as a 
fire guard in the Forest Service. It had been 
a pleasant summer. He loved the big outdoors. 
It was clean, better than the oil fields. 

He crossed the street and looked at the di¬ 
rectory of the building. The district forester’s 
office was located on the upper floor. He found 
the room and knocked on the inner office. A 
pleasant-looking man opened the door for him. 

“Come in,” he said cordially. 

“You are Mr. Cox, the district forester?” 
inquired Hammond. 

“The same,” smiling. 

“Mr. Cox, Hammond is my name. I am look¬ 
ing for a job with the service. Perhaps you will 
be good enough to put me in touch with some¬ 
thing.” 

“I see. Any experience, Mr. Hammond?” 

“Yes. I was fire guard last summer at Sula, 
in the Cascade National Forest. I have had 
considerable experience in the woods.” 

“College man?” asked the other. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


73 


44 Yes.” 

“Forestry?” 

“No; engineering. I have had three years 
of civil engineering at the University of Cali¬ 
fornia.” 

“Good. Yes, I think that we can fix yon np, 
Mr. Hammond. In fact, we have been looking 
for a man with some experience for a job in the 
Cabinet, over in Montana.’’ 

He scribbled on a card and handed it to Gil. 

4 4 Take this down to Stillenger, in Operations. 
He will fix yon np, Mr. Hammond.” 

Hammond arose and thanked him. The for¬ 
ester held ont his hand. 

4 4 If yon are the man we have been looking 
for, the thanks will be on onr side,” he said. 
4 4 Good luck.” 

In the operations department Hammond 
fonnd that he was to be sent to the Beaver River 
Ranger Station, in the Cabinet National Forest, 
near the Idaho line, where his duties would be 
assigned him by the ranger at that station. 
He was to receive one hundred and twenty-five 
dollars, and expenses. 

4 4 You can leave for Beaver River this after¬ 
noon, on the N. P., if yon wish,” Stillenger told 
him. 4 4 Yon will find Lane, the ranger np there, 
a good man to work with. I have known him 
personally for several years. He is one of the 
best rangers in the service. 

4 4 We run the fire-control headquarters here, 
yon see; and the fires around Beaver River have 
been pretty bad for the last three or four years. 
We’re pretty sure that someone sets them, but 
can’t get proof of it. 

4 4 Drop in, if yon should by any chance run 


74 


BLIND BE OTHERS 


up to Spokane. We’d be glad to have you.” 

Hammond went directly to the Northern Pa¬ 
cific Station. He found that by hurrying he 
could catch Forty-two, the next east-bound train 
on the Northern Pacific line. He checked his 
baggage to Noxon, the closest station to Beaver 
River, and boarded his train, which was now 
waiting on the track. 

In the day coach he was conscious of a feeling 
of relief that it was all settled. He had the 
prospect of a summer of agreeable work. The 
actual necessities for the immediate future were 
provided for. His condition was no worse than 
that of hundreds of other persons who had 
really committed crimes. And he had done noth¬ 
ing to be ashamed of. At least, his conscience 
was clear on that score. Why should he worry 
about the future? Up here no one would know 
his story, or would care to ask about his past. 
That had been left behind with all its associa¬ 
tions. Now he was absolutely “on his own.” 

The thought was pleasant. As a boy he had 
read stories of other boys going on wondrous 
voyages and journeys of adventure. He had 
longed to go on similar voyages, into some dis¬ 
tant unknown country, away from everything 
that he had known. 

Well, this was an adventure. What the fu¬ 
ture held for him was a total mystery. The con¬ 
ventional blue-printed plans which he had used 
to plot his future were destroyed. Let life 
bring him what it would. He was still a man; 
he would meet the future like a man. After he 
had secured a better grip on himself he would 
plan what to do about Powell and the California 
trouble. At present he could do nothing. Rage 


BLIND BROTHERS 75 

and worry only made things worse. He would 
Wait. 

Gil arrived in Noxon in the afternoon. The 
place was merely a “tank town,” boasting two 
stores, a somewhat disreputable looking hotel, 
two building which had formerly been saloons 
and a half a dozen other buildings. He in¬ 
quired of the station agent about transportation 
for himself and his baggage to Beaver River 
Station. 

“Lane is in town with his rig,” the man told 
him. “He might take you up. You’ll find him 
over at the store.” 

He indicated a building opposite the station. 
Hammond crossed the street and inquired of a 
boy behind the counter as to where he might find 
the ranger. 

“That’s him,” returned the youngster, in¬ 
dicating a tall man in the rear of the store. 
The man was helping another, evidently the 
proprietor of the store, pack canned goods and 
packages into a dry-goods box. When Ham¬ 
mond addressed him he arose. 

“Yes, I’m Jim Lane,” he said, taking the 
letter from the Spokane office which Hammond 
held out. “I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. 
Hammond. I’ve been begging the Missoula 
office for a man for the last month. McGlough- 
lin wrote me that he had asked Cox to send 
some one, if he could find the right man. He 
got one sooner than I expected. 

“Is your baggage over at the station? I’ll 
take you right up the river with me tonight.” 

The ranger was a big thoughtful-looking man, 
with a suggestion of sly humor in his clear gray 
eyes. Hammond liked his looks. There was an 


76 


BLIND BROTHERS 


open frankness in the man’s looks which seemed 
to dispel the distrust which Gil had come to 
feel toward every one whom he encountered. 

When Lane had finished his purchasing, Ham¬ 
mond helped him carry the box to a buckboard 
standing at one end of the store platform. 

“Now we’ll collect your stuff and be getting 
up the river,” the ranger said. “It’s quite a 
drive. We’ll have to hurry to make it before 
dark. ’ ’ 

They drove out across the railroad track and 
down a cottonwood-shaded lane to the river. 
There was no bridge, but a ferry boat with its 
long, drooping cable spanning the stream, stood 
at the other side. Lane gave a hallo, and after 
a few moments a man came down to the landing 
and began whirling the big steering-wheel in 
the center of the heavy boat. Hammond 
watched him push the awkward craft away from 
the shore with a long pike-pole. Soon the boat 
was caught in the current and began making 
headway across the stream. 

“That’s Sam Wah. They call him ‘Hamp¬ 
ton’s Chinaman,’ most of the time,” Lane told 
Gil, indicating the man on the boat. “The old 
fellow must be sixty or seventy years old. He 
has lived here on the Hampton place for the 
last ten years. No one knows anything about 
him. Sometimes he goes away, without saying 
anything. He always comes back in a week or 
two. Never tells where he has been. The old 
fellow is quite a character. There must be an 
interesting story connected with him, if one 
could get at it.” 

As the ferry drew up to the landing the old 
Chinaman straightened it out with a turn of 


BLIND BROTHERS 


77 


the wheel and drove it home with the pike-pole. 

“Business pretty slow today, Sam?” the 
ranger asked pleasantly. 

“Velly quiet day—all samey Sunday,” the 
Chinaman replied in a soft, expressionless 
voice. 

The old man was indeed a character. His 
face reminded Hammond of that of an Egyp¬ 
tian mummy. The skin was tightly drawn over 
the cheek bones; around the eyes and mouth 
there were innumerable wrinkles; like that of 
a mummy, the face was expressionless, save for 
the eyes. These were singularly clear and 
piercing. They seemed to contradict the rest of 
the old man’s features, to belie his age. 

Lane drove his rig onto the platform of the 
ferry. The Chinaman re-set the wheel and 
again pushed off into the current. They began 
to travel steadily toward the opposite shore. 

“Are there many ranches up Beaver River?” 
Hammond inquired. 

“Oh, yes; the valley is pretty well settled. 
There are some fine ranches up there. And a 
little timber is left. Most of that went out 
years ago, though. The best that’s left is in the 
forest reserve. That has been saved by a mir¬ 
acle. The fires have come pretty near wiping 
it out several times. Luckily, it escaped the 
big nineteen-and-ten blaze. That cleared out 
most everything around here.” 

He indicated the mountain ranges to the south 
and west. They bore evidence of having been 
swept clean. In many places they were being 
re-covered with a thick growth of lodge-pole and 
jack-pine. 

‘ 1 Stillenger was telling me that you have been 


78 


BLIND BROTHERS 


having considerable trouble with fires,’’ Ham¬ 
mond said. “He hinted that some of them had 
been set. Do you have any theory as to the 
persons responsible?” 

“More than a theory; but nothing to work 
on, as yet. I’ll tip you off to some suspicious 
characters, one of these days,” the ranger told 
him. 

Lane glanced at the Chinaman. Gil thought 
he detected a meaning in the forester’s look. 
He was surprised. The idea that the innocent¬ 
looking old Chinaman could have anything to 
do with the setting of forest fires seemed 
ridiculous. 

The boat drew up to the landing and Lane 
drove ashore. 

“Bad business, working for the Forest Ser¬ 
vice, Sam. All work; no pay, eh?” he asked. 

“Velly bad business. Gov’ment no likee 
pay. ’ ’ 

The ferry was toll-free to the Forest Service. 

Lane handed him half a dollar. 4 ‘Well, here’s 
something for your work, anyway, Sam,” he 
said. 

The Chinaman’s features relaxed a bit. His 
eyes seemed to twinkle for a moment. Then 
his features recovered their set calm. 

“No tell gov’ment; gov’ment no care,” he 
said. ‘‘ Thanks allesame. ’ ’ 

The road led them down the river, through a 
magnificent forest of yellow pine. The sun fil¬ 
tered through the tree-tops, now and then touch¬ 
ing up the tree trunks and undergrowth on 
either side of the road with pleasing high-lights. 
Occasionally they passed a recess in the trees 
in which some home steader’s cabin squatted, its 


BLIND BROTHERS 


79 


new pine shingles glistening in the sun; but for 
a stretch of three or four miles the forest was 
unbroken. Now and then a timber grouse, or 
“fool-hen,’ 7 as Lane called it, would fly up 
from the side of the road and go whirring away 
through the trees; and an occasional pine squir¬ 
rel would scold them from behind some pro¬ 
tecting pine trunk; but aside from these, no 
sound save the light rattle of the buckboard 
wheels and the thud of the horse’s hoofs broke 
the pleasing forest silence. 

“That’s the Clark’s Fork of the Columbia,” 
Lane told Gil, indicating the river which they 
had crossed, now visible through a vista in the 
trees. “Beaver River empties into it about 
five miles below the ferry. 

“By the way,” he continued, “we were speak¬ 
ing about forest fires back there. I didn’t care 
to talk before Sam. No one knows anything 
about the old rascal, although he has a good 
enough reputation. Still, I have a suspicion 
that he may not be quite as innocent as he looks. 
Anyway it’s best not to take chances. 

“I might as well give you the straight of 
this fire-setting business now. Two or three 
years ago I caught a fellow named Meighan, 
cutting sawlogs from government lands and 
putting them into the river with his own logs. 
Meighan was a good-for-nothing fellow, a sort 
of general trouble-maker, and a confirmed 
drunkard. I reported him and he was tried 
and sent over the road for three years. His 
two sons, Cliff and Bill, were mixed up in the 
deal, but managed to get out of it. Since then 
they have been making trouble whenever pos¬ 
sible. 


80 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“Bill was sent to the penitentiary for six 
months, on a moonshining charge, last year. 
He’s out now. He’s the worst of the three— 
sneaking, underhand. Cliff would be a rather 
decent sort if he were left to himself. He’s 
merely a good-natured bully—affects the ‘bad 
man’ stuff, and believes himself to be pretty 
tough; but Bill and the old man are thoroughly 
bad. Old Man Meighan openly swore that he 
would get even with me, when they convicted 
him; and Bill has made repeated threats. I’m 
pretty sure he’s back of the fire-setting. I’ll 
point them out to you when I get a chance. You 
might have a run-in with one of them. Any¬ 
one connected with the Service is contraband 
so far as either of the three is concerned.” 

“Is the father out of the penitentiary yet?” 
asked Gil. 

“No; his term expires pretty soon, I think. 
When he .does get out I expect there will be 
trouble of some kind. Still, it’s all in the day’s 
work. I’m not worrying a lot.” 

The ranger did not appear to be laboring 
under any great mental strain. The more Ham¬ 
mond saw of the man the better he liked him. 
Gil had began to study faces. Lane’s was the 
kind to command confidence. He was of the 
type often seen in the Forest Service—big, 
good-natured, honest, sincere, with enough dry 
humor in his make-up to render him thoroughly 
likable. 

They came out of the forest into a broad 
canyon, meeting the river at right angles. 
Down the canyon a good-sized stream foamed 
and splashed over the rocks. 

“That’s Beaver River,” the ranger told Gil. 



BLIND BROTHERS 


81 


“Mighty good trout fishing in there a little 
later. If you are a fisherman, you’ll he getting 
out your tackle one of these days. There is an 
old trout that hangs out in a pool, up near the 
ranger station. He has been, figuratively speak¬ 
ing, making sport of our local Isaac Waltons for 
three or four years. The youngsters have 
named him 4 The Submarine.’ If you are anx¬ 
ious to become a local celebrity, better try your 
hand at hooking him.” 

Gil was a fisherman. Between the Meighans, 
his duties at the station and the fishing pros¬ 
pects, the summer’s outlook appeared to be 
broadening. He found himself unconsciously 
responding to the ranger’s friendliness. But 
the bitterness of his recent experiences still 
rankled. Suppose Lane should find out what 
had happened to him. Would he continue to be 
friendly, in spite of it? Now was the time to 
find out. 

“Mr. Lane,” he began, after a lull in their 
conversation, “there is something I probably 
ought to tell you before taking up the summer ’s 
work. I—” 

He was interrupted by the coughing of a 
claxon around the bend, ahead of them. A 
battered Ford car rattled into view. Lane 
pulled the horses over to the right, in order to 
let the car pass. Just before the machine came 
alongside it swerved suddenly to the left. 

“Look where you’re driving!” Lane yelled. 
As he did so the Ford struck the rear hind wheel 
of the buckboard, throwing the rig over on 
its side and hurling the two occupants to the 
ground. 

Hammond caught on his feet. With quick 


82 


BLIND BROTHERS 


presence of mind lie scrambled to the horses’ 
heads and grasped the bridles. Lane picked 
himself up from the roadbank, where he had 
been pitched. The machine had stopped a few 
yards down the road. The two occupants got 
out and returned to the overturned buckboard. 
Lane glared at them angrily. 

“Are you fellows blind?” he asked. “Why 
didn’t you look where you were driving V* 

The two men swaggered up and stood, hands 
on hips, looking at the overturned rig. 

“Go ’long, you damned nurse to the jack- 
pines ! ’ ’ the younger of the two returned bellig¬ 
erently. “Keep your rattle-trap over where it 
belongs, if you don’t want to get it hit. This 
road’s free. Don’t get cocky, or you’re liable 
to get smashed on the nut. I’ve been looking 
for a chance to do it, anyway.” 

Lane walked over in front of the speaker and 
stood for a moment looking him in the eye. 
The other was taller than the ranger; both were 
powerful men. The forester’s fist shot out 
like a piston, catching the fellow on the point 
of the chin. He sprawled backward in the dust. 
In a twinkling he was on his feet again, and the 
two of them were on the ranger. As they closed 
Lane gave the older man an upper-cut to the 
jaw, which staggered him for a moment, then 
he closed with his first antagonist. 

Hammond dropped the reins and sprang at 
the older man, who had whipped out a knife. 
He caught the fellow by the wrist with his left 
hand and gave a twist which brought the man’s 
side to him. Then Gil swung with all his 
strength to the jaw. The man staggered to 


BLIND BROTHERS 


83 


the roadbank, tumbled over and rolled into the 
bushes below. 

Hammond turned to Lane. The ranger’s op¬ 
ponent had him down and was raining blows on 
his unprotected face. Gil grasped the fellow 
by the shirt collar and jerked him to his feet. 
The other swung with his left and landed on 
the side of Gil’s face, making him dizzy for a 
moment. His assailant was on him in a flash, 
showering long-arm blows with his left hand. 

Hammond had boxed considerably. Instinc¬ 
tively he guarded his face from the other’s 
blows. He clinched with the man, and for a 
moment they grappled. Lane had risen to his 
feet, wiping the blood from his face. He sprang 
in to help. 

4 ‘Keep off—get the other!” gasped Ham¬ 
mond. 

The other man had scrambled back into the 
road a few yards below the struggling group. 
Hammond suddenly broke from his opponent’s 
grasp and swung at his face. The latter ducked 
and stepped back. The older man grasped him 
by the arm and held him. He had evidently had 
enough. He turned to Lane and broke into a 
volley of profanity and obscene epithets. 

“ Never mind, you sneaking government boot¬ 
licker! I’ll get you yet! And when I do it’ll 
be dead to rights! Don’t you forget it!” He 
pulled the younger man down the road, and 
they drove off, shouting back at Gil and the 
ranger. 

Lane wiped the blood from his face with a 
bandanna and turned to Hammond, who was 
gingerly feeling of a rapidly swelling lump 


84 BLIND BROTHERS 

on his own face. Lane’s features relaxed into 
a grin. 

“That was pretty work,” he said, holding 
out his hand. “If you hadn’t pulled him off 
when you did, I imagine I should have been 
pretty much the worse for wear, about now.” 

Hammond grasped the outstretched hand. 

“Wow!” he panted. “That was short and 
sweet—very sweet! You certainly handed that 
lanky galoot a good one to begin with. How 
did he happen to get you dow T n?” 

The ranger bared his left arm. It was rap¬ 
idly swelling. “Must have sprained it when 
I fell out of the rig, I guess. He gave it a 
w r rench when we grappled, and I tumbled. 

“Well,” he went on, “you seem to have hit 
Beaver River in the nick of time. Old Man 
Meighan is out of the pen once more. The 
galoot was his son, Cliff. ” 


VII 


The ranger looked at the overturned buck- 
board. One rear wheel had been slightly dam¬ 
aged, and packages and canned goods were 
scattered all over the road. After Hammond ’s 
promptness in checking their first excited dash, 
the horses had made no attempt to run. 

“Well, let’s right her,” said Lane. “I think 
that hind wheel will hold till we get home. If it 
doesn’t, we’ll have to rig up a skid. You’re 
booked to have a pretty eye there, in a little 
while. Not the kind of reception you were ex¬ 
pecting on Beaver River, eh? You appeared 
to be enjoying the one you got, I must say. 
Can’t speak the same for our friends, the 
Meighans.” 

They righted the buckboard and collected the 
scattered load. “Guess we’d better stick a 
couple of false spokes in that wheel. All the 
dish lias been knocked out,” Lane said. 

Hammond cut two small maple bushes, about 
two and a half inches in diameter, making them 
equal in length to the diameter of the wheel. 
These he threaded through the spokes, on 
either side of the hub, and sprang them into 
place so that they caught over the fellers, but 
would not protrude beyond the tire. The false 
spokes restored the “dish,” or concave arrange¬ 
ment of the spokes. 

“That ought to hold,” Gil said. “Better let 
me drive,” he continued, after they had once 
more climbed into the buckboard. “That arm 

85 


86 BLIND BROTHERS 

of yours looks pretty bad. May give you 
trouble. ’ * 

The ranger allowed him to take the reins. 

“It looks as though you have let yourself into 
it for keeps, Hammond,’’ he said as they drove 
up the canyon. “From now on, you and I will 
be in the same boat, so far as the Meighans are 
concerned. It’s lucky Bill wasn’t along with 
the others, or we might have gotten the worst 
of it.” 

“Well, I’m glad things have come to a show¬ 
down,” Gil replied. “Now we know where 
we stand.” 

“Yes; still, I don’t think they will attempt 
any desperate measures. Both the old man and 
Bill have just finished prison terms. That will 
make them a little afraid. We’ll have to be on 
the lookout for underhand work—fires and the 
like. ’ ’ 

“I know something of the type,” Hammond 
replied. ‘ ‘ We ’ll keep on the look out for trouble. 
Our little set-to back there left me feeling con¬ 
siderably better, in spite of the decoration.” 

tie tapped his disfigured eye which the swell¬ 
ing had now almost entirely closed. “I’ve been 
more or less down in the dumps for the last few 
days,” he explained. “Our scrap served as a 
pleasant reaction. ’ ’ 

“Glad you look at it that way,” grinned the 
ranger. ‘ ‘ I was beginning to think that the re¬ 
action might be getting just a little too strong, 
especially when Cliff had me down. But ours 
is the triumphal procession; and we have quite 
a modest showing of decorations, although not 
all of them, I’m thinking.” 


BLIND BROTHERS 87 

It was after dark when they finally arrived at 
the ranger station. 

‘ 6 My wife will think that we have been fight¬ 
ing with a grizzly when she sees your face and 
my arm. I’ll tip the good lady off that the 
present handicap to your manly perfection isn’t 
permanent, though. You two will like each 
other. You both have the same delicate and 
decisive mastery of touch. When you have been 
around a while, you will see that I am hopelessly 
hen-pecked, Hammond. But it is a pleasant 
state of servitude, and I am content. My wife 
is a queen, if I do say it. ’ 9 

The ranger lived in a neat, roomy bungalow, 
across the road from the station itself. Ham¬ 
mond helped him stable the horses and carry 
the boxes to the kitchen porch. 

‘ 1 Come right in, ’ ’ Lane said heartily. 
“You’ll pardon me for bringing you through 
the kitchen. We don’t stand much on ceremony 
up here on the River. Mabel,” he addressed 
his wife who met them at the door, “this is Mr. 
Hammond, who is going to work with me this 
summer. We had a little mix-up with the 
Meighans down the road a way; and both of 
us bear the marks of honest endeavor. If you’ll 
get some bandages and things we ’ll try to make 
ourselves a little more presentable. ’ ’ 

“Come right in, Mr. Hammond,” she said 
with a smile. “I’m pretty well accustomed to 
bumps and bruises. Jim is always falling off 
the woodshed or bumping his head against the 
cellar doorway. He’s worse than a small boy. 
And of course he makes me tie up his bruises 
for him. First aid first; then supper. I im- 


88 BLIND BROTHERS 

agine neither of you will be reluctant on that 
score.’’ 

“Reluctant! I feel like a vast empty void! 
I’m a howling coyote in December! Do you 
feel such symptoms, Hammond!” 

“That hits me just about right,” he agreed. 
“I also have a strong feeling of kinship to a 
toy balloon, just at present.” 

“Yes, I detect a rather marked family re¬ 
semblance to that article in your anatomy. 
Come in here. We’ll fix you up in three 
shakes.” 

Lane led the way to a small bathroom, equip¬ 
ped with modem conveniences. “Here’s warm 
and cold water,” he said, “and here’s towels 
and soap. When you’re through Mabel will fix 
you up. You’re sure a sight for sore eyes.” 

Gil bathed the dust and blood from his face 
and hands. When he had finished Mrs. Lane 
dressed his cheek with a bandage saturated with 
a pungent-smelling liniment. “That will burn 
for a while,” she told him, “but it will take the 
swelling out. You will be as good as new in a 
day or two. There are brushes on the bureau, 
if you wish to tidy yourself up a bit. Jim will 
be ready in a minute, and then we shall have 
supper.” 

Jim Lane’s estimate of his wife had been 
pretty nearly correct, Gil told himself, as he 
brushed the dust from his rumpled blue serge 
suit and made himself otherwise presentable. 
No hostess of his acquaintance could have met 
the situation with more tact or composure. She 
had accepted their blood-stained faces without 
a trace of excitement, without a question. With 
a few well-chosen pleasant words, she had put 


BLIND BROTHERS 


89 


him absolutely at ease. The total lack of cere- 
moniousness in either the ranger or his wife 
struck Gil as being especially admirable. They 
were undoubtedly persons of considerable taste 
and refinement; and they made a handsome 
pair, he thought later, as he watched her ar¬ 
ranging the supper table. 

As they seated themselves around the table, 
Lane glanced about the room. “ Where is ‘The 
Tornado*?” he asked. It seemeth unusually 
quiet and peaceful, methinks.” 

“He went to sleep on the sofa, and I put him 
to bed,” Mrs. Lane replied. “ ‘The Tornado* 
is Jim’s latest inappropriate nickname for our 
family, aged five,” she told Gil. “His real 
name is Jim, of course. I call him Jim-Jams.” 

Her husband looked at her in mock astonish¬ 
ment. 

“Inappropriate!” he said. “If you could 
see the place when His Excellency has just fin¬ 
ished his afternoon diversion, and has consented 
to indulge in a short siesta, you would think 
that the name is mild.” 

After they had finished the excellent meal 
which Mrs. Lane had prepared the forester took 
Hammond across the road to the ranger sta¬ 
tion. Seated in the small well-kept office, Lane 
proceeded to outline the summer’s work. 

“Aside from the usual routine of a ranger 
station, the biggest part of the work will be 
looking after forest fires,” he told Hammond 
as he lighted his pipe. “Better light up,” he 
added, indicating a tobacco jar and several 
pipes in a rack over the desk. “I can talk 
better w r ith a full pipe. It seems to soothe and 
regulate the turbid torrent of my thoughts.” 


90 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Hammond selected one, and Lane went on. 

“The fire season usually starts about the 
first of July up here. There are three look¬ 
out stations which have telephone connections 
with this office. During the fire season, some¬ 
one has to be here all the time, of course. In 
case of a big fire, we shall be compelled to em¬ 
ploy a large crew of fighters. Each crew will 
have a capable man in charge. There are sev¬ 
eral ranchers around here upon whom I can rely 
in case of emergency. We usually employ a 
few smoke-chasers and general handy men. 
With their help, we can attend to all the little 
blazes ourselves. The big idea is prevention, 
of course. We aim to get the little ones before 
they become big ones.” 

“Do you have many lightning fires?” asked 
Gil. 

“No; with the ordinary run of lightning fires 
and accidentals, control would be easy enough; 
but today’s events indicate that we shall have 
the Meighans to contend with. If I had any ac¬ 
tual proof against them, I would not hesitate to 
swear out a warrant and send all three of them 
back to the penitentiary. Unfortunately, there 
is nothing to work upon, as yet. 

“I have considerable tracing and blue-print 
work which qught to keep us both busy until the 
fire season opens. That will give you an op¬ 
portunity to size up the situation and get ac¬ 
quainted with the community. Practically all 
the ranchers except the Meighans, are my 
friends up here. You will find that it is a pleas¬ 
ant community to live in, on the whole. 

“Another thing I might as well tell you is 
that there has been considerable moonshine dis- 


BLIND BROTHERS 


91 


tilling going on up here around the lake. Un¬ 
doubtedly, the Meighans are back of it, and I 
have a hunch that our old friend, Sam Wah, has 
something to do with the disposing of the liquor. 
The sheriff has been up here two or three times, 
but hasn’t been able to locate anything. 

“I’m not going to play the part of sneak or 
informer, nor will I expect you to; still, if the 
Meighans should be sent over the road on a 
moonshine charge, it would undoubtedly sim¬ 
plify our summer’s work.” 

Hammond lay awake for an hour or so pon¬ 
dering the events of the day. 

“We’ll put you up over at the house, for the 
present,” Lane had told him. “Later we’ll 
fix up that room next to the office for you. 
You’ll take your meals with us, of course. I’m 
glad you are a companionable sort of fellow. 
Mabel and I are rather gregarious; we like to 
have people around.” 

Despite the distrust which the events of the 
past week had aroused within him, Hammond 
could not doubt the sincerity of the ranger’s 
statement. As he lay in the clean fresh bed 
to which Lane had shown him, the thought that 
had worried him on the way up the river re¬ 
turned. What w r ould the Lanes think of him, 
were they to learn the reason for his leaving 
California! Would they turn from him as his 
former friends had done? Should he tell them; 
would it be fair to keep them in ignorance of 
the events of the past week—to accept their 
friendship on such terms? He decided that it 
would not. No matter where he might go, he 
could not get away from the thing, he thought 
bitterly. 


92 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Tomorrow he would tell the ranger the whole 
story, he finally decided. He felt that Lane 
would believe him. If he didn’t—well he, Ham¬ 
mond could move on. The afternoon’s epi¬ 
sode had caused him, for the second time since 
their occurrence, actually to forget his troubles. 
And the lapse of memory had lasted the entire 
evening. Powell, his fraternity brothers, the 
investigation committee, Dorothy Paige—. Was 
there no escaping them, or the thing that they 
had done to him? No; it had become a part 
of his life, would continue to be a part of it. 

Dorothy Paige! A -week before he had 
dreamed of a home, modest, neat—something 
like the ranger r s, with Dorothy for its mistress. 
There would have been a big fireplace—prat¬ 
tling children. Now that was ended. She had 
ended the dream with her abrupt ‘ 4 No! ’ ’ Even 
though she desired it, if his innocence should 
be vindicated, the old status could never be 
resumed. The girl had killed something in his 
feeling for her. Not that he could blame her 
for her action; still, she might have had a little 
faith—a little faith! Had any one sworn to him 
that Dorothy, or Powell, for that matter, had 
done a dishonest thing, he would have called the 
man a liar, would have fought him. To Ham¬ 
mond love meant faith also. 

Had he actually loved Dorothy? He won¬ 
dered. The fact that she doubted him did not 
weigh heavier than the distrust of the others; 
it only made him bitter—disillusioned. No; it 
could not have been love; that would have 
lasted. He only felt regret and bitterness be¬ 
cause the Dorothy Paige whom he had idealized 
had never existed except in his mind. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


93 


And Powell—for him there was no regret; 
only bitterness and hatred. With his mind’s 
eyes Gil once more pictured his former room¬ 
mate ’s pale face, his shifting eyes, his twitching 
fingers, as they sat before the committee. The 
cringing, sneaking traitor! 

“Damn him! Damn him!” he muttered to 
himself, as he lay there in the dark, clinching 
his hands in the bitterness of his hatred. 

Suddenly, by some strange trick of the mental 
processes, the picture shifted; the cringing 
Powell was forgotten. Gil saw himself once 
more in the waiting room of the station at Port¬ 
land, studying the faces of his fellow travelers. 
A vision of eager, smiling, confident youth 
crowded the others from the background of his 
consciousness—mocked him with its joyous 
radiance ; made him ashamed of his bitterness. 

Had he really seen that face ?—was it merely 
a fancy which his imagination had created—like 
his idealization of Dorothy Paige? Would he 
ever see the face again? 

Presently, Gil fell asleep and dreamed that 
he was in his office in California, fighting the 
Meighans and Powell—for a picture in an oval 
silver frame—the picture of a smiling, radiant 
girl—the girl he had seen in the station— 


VIII 


When Hammond arose next morning the sun¬ 
light was already streaming into his bedroom 
window. The Lanes greeted him with a hearty 
“Good morning!” when he joined them in the 
dining room. 

“This is James, Junior; alias Jim-Jams; alias 
The Tornado,” said Lane, indicating a tow- 
lieaded be-overalled youngster who, perched on 
the sofa, was assaulting a tin drum with a tack 
hammer in a solemn and business-like manner. 

“It’s rather early for him to be up; and he 
hasn’t had his breakfast yet,” Lane went on. 
“Pretty soon he’ll be getting into action with 
a vengeance.” 

Jim-Jams surveyed Hammond with frank 
interest, although he gave no evidence of sus¬ 
pending operations. Mrs. Lane smiled at the 
youngster from the kitchen doorway. 

“Jim-Jams’ future seems to be assured,” she 
told Gil. “Anyone with his delicately attuned 
ear for noise must be destined to become either 
a great musician or a boiler-maker. ’ ’ 

“Do you know anything about Fords?” Lane 
asked, after they had finished breakfast. 
“Elizabeth, our domestic transportation 
agency, seems to have suffered from an attack 
of perverseness. I’ve tried to coax her with 
new spark plugs, but she refuses to respond to 
my advances. See what you can do to remove 
her indisposition.” 


94 


BLIND BROTHERS 95 

Hammond grinned at the ranger’s droll sen¬ 
tences. 

“I’ll try to diagnose the case,” he said. 
“Might be lucky enough to stumble on the 
trouble. Did you examine the coils?” 

“Yes, and the connection seems to be all 
right. She doesn’t spark properly, though. 
Elizabeth is a creature of moods and tempera¬ 
ment. It may be her digestion. ’ ’ 

Hammond looked over the wiring and found 
the insulation rubbed away from one of the 
strands. 

“Found it, I think,” he said. “Have you 
some tape?” Lane tossed him a roll; Gil 
wrapped the exposed wire and then cranked the 
car. It started without any difficulty. 

“Must be getting near-sighted,” Lane ob¬ 
served, as he replaced the pliers and wrenches 
in the tool box. “By the way, I’m going to 
town again this morning,” he went on. “Any¬ 
thing I can bring you from the store?” 

Hammond did not recall anything. He was 
well supplied with outdoor equipment. 

“How about your mail?” Mrs. Lane asked 
from the doorway. “We usually have our mail 
sent up by one of the ranchers, whenever pos¬ 
sible. You might have Jim make the same ar¬ 
rangements for yours.” 

Hammond flushed. He would be getting no 
mail. 

“That—that would be all right,” he hesitated. 

He winced as he realized that this was the 
opportunity to carry out his decision of the 
night before. He would have to tell the ranger. 
If Lane did not wflsh to keep him he would re¬ 
turn with him to Noxon. 


96 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“Mir. Lane,” he began, after the ranger had 
turned the car around and was preparing to 
drive down the road, “there is something that 
I feel that I ought to tell you about myself, 
before accepting your’s and Mrs. Lane’s hos¬ 
pitality. I won’t be getting any mail up here, 
because none of my friends or relatives know 
where I am. While I have done nothing that 
I am ashamed of, I can’t accept your friendship 
under false pretenses. 

“I left California because I had been accused 
of a crime. I didn’t do the thing they accused 
me of, but everyone believed me to be guilty. 
I’ll tell you the details, and if you wish me to 
leave I shall do so—” 

“Tell me nothing,” the ranger interrupted. 
“As for your leaving, you’ll do nothing of the 
kind. I need you here. It makes no difference 
whether you are accused of robbing a bank or 
of kidnapping a movie actress, so long as I have 
your word that you didn’t do it. That goes with 
me. 

“All of us have our ups and downs, Ham¬ 
mond. I’ve had mine; I can allow for the other 
fellow. Let me say that I have had considerable 
occasion for judging men, in my life. My judg¬ 
ment tells me that you are on the square. I’m 
willing to trust it. Shake hands and forget it. ’ ’ 
He held out his hand. Hammond grasped it 
warmly. 

“But I’d rather give you the whole story, 
Mr. Lane. Then there won’t be any chance for 
a misunderstanding—” 

“No; it isn’t necessary. Later, if you wish, 
or if I can help you in any way, you may tell 
me. Just now the thing for you to do is to 


BLIND BROTHERS 


97 


forget your trouble and get a grip on yourself. 
Things have a way of turning out right, if you 
give ’em time. You hang around here today 
and take things easy. Monday we ’ll start on the 
blue-print work.” 

The ranger waved at his wife, who stood in 
the doorway, and drove off. Hammond watched 
him disappear down the road, leaving a dust 
cloud behind. A choking sensation arose in 
his throat. Lane had accepted him without a 
word of explanation; and the ranger had known 
him but one night and half of one day; yet 
he had given him his faith and friendship! 
That was brotherhood—Dr. England’s type of 
brotherhood—the kind which Parks, the travel¬ 
ing salesman had practiced! The fact that it 
was scarce made it worth all the more. 

Now Gil had something else to fight for, to 
justify this big man’s confidence and friendship, 
as well as that of the others, and to prove his 
innocence. The settlement of his account with 
Powell would include the latter. 

Lane’s words made Gil feel like a new man. 
There was a reality in the world after all. His 
ideals had not all been mere boyish sentimen¬ 
tality. He had found genuine faith, friendship; 
perhaps he might find the others—even love. 
Who could tell? At least, he could meet life as 
it came, and accept what it might bring. 

His trunk stood on the platform in front of 
the station. Gil dragged it into the little room 
back of the office which the ranger had assigned 
him for later use. He opened the trunk and 
took out a pair of hob-nailed boots, khaki army 
trousers, a flannel shirt and stiff-brimmed 
stetson. A heavy black and red plaid ‘‘stag” 


98 


BLIND BROTHERS 


shirt lay where he had stuffed it, together with 
his baseball sweater, with its big block “C.” 
He tossed the shirt on the cot beside the win¬ 
dow and folding the sweater neatly, replaced 
it in the trunk. It had meant a lot to him— 
that big sweater, with its letter; and now he had 
no right to wear it—perhaps would never have 
again. 

Dressed in his out-of-doors outfit, he returned 
to the house. Mrs. Lane was doing her house¬ 
work. Jim-Jams sat at the piano, pounding 
out dismal discords, in his serious business-like 
fashion. As Gil entered the child turned and 
surveyed him critically in his new costume. 

“You goin’ fishin , , Hammon , ? ,, he inquired. 
“Let me go wis you.” 

“No, I hadn’t thought about it. Still, it 
might be a good idea; but I haven’t any fish¬ 
ing tackle, son.” 

“My papa’s got lots. I’ll show you!” The 
youngster jumped down from the piano stool 
and led the way to the kitchen. 

“Jim-Jams suggests that it might be a good 
plan for him and me to go fishing this morning, 
Mrs. Lane, ’ ’ the young man told her. ‘ ‘ I won¬ 
der if I may borrow Mr. Lane’s tackle?” 

“Certainly. Jim said that you would prob¬ 
ably want to go fishing. He left his basket and 
rod on the refrigerator, on the back porch. 
There are some salmon eggs in the basket, and 
I’ll get his fly hook for you; but you needn’t 
bother with Jim-Jams, unless you wish. You 
stay with Mamma this morning, Sonny-boy, 
won’t you?” 

“Sonny-boy” gave her a reproachful look. 


BLIND BROTHERS 99 

‘‘I wanna go fiskin’, Mamma,” he stated em¬ 
phatically. 

‘ 4 He wouldn’t be a bother at all, and I’d love 
to have him, unless you object to his going, Mrs. 
Lane. The trip was Jim-Jams ’ suggestion, you 
know,” Gil urged. 

Mrs. Lane smiled at the eager youngster. 
“All right, I suppose he’ll have to go. But he 
will probably frighten the trout and end up 
by falling in the creek. Make him stay right 
beside you, Mr. Hammond.” 

Hammond promised to keep Jim-Jams out of 
danger, and he and the youngster set out for the 
creek. 

“You goin’ to catch the Submarine, Ham- 
mon’!” queried Jim-Jams. “My papa caught 
him one day. I saw him. But the Submarine 
got away. My papa’s been makin’ a lot of new 
flies. He says he’s goin’ to get the Submarine 
nex’ time.” 

“Where is the Submarine, son? I might 
make a few casts at him, just for luck,” Gil an¬ 
swered, remembering that Lane had mentioned 
the “Submarine.” 

Jim-Jams started ahead at full speed. 
“Come on, Hammon’!” he shouted. “I know 
where he is—I’ll show you!” 

Gil smiled at the youngster’s enthusiasm. 
“Hey there!” he called to the fleeting Jim- 
Jams; “go slow a bit. I’m a cripple today. 
The Submarine will wait for us, Sonny.” 

1 i Oh, I saw him once, Hammon ’, ’ ’ called Jim- 
Jams, as he waited impatiently for the other 
to catch up. “He was all speckled and red and 
—and about so long, I guess.” He spread his 
pudgy hands something like two feet apart. 




100 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“Must have been a whopper,” Gil grinned. 

The boy led him across the meadow to the 
river, here little more than a large creek. Ham¬ 
mond rigged his pole and began to cast out into 
a broad pool which indicated possibilities. Jim- 
Jams was all for an immediate attack on the 
Submarine ’s stronghold, but Hammond decided 
to fish down stream to the pool. Finally his 
expectations in regard to the place were real¬ 
ized. He felt a sudden twitch of the pole and 
a silvery speckled body splashed the surface 
of the pool into circling wavelets. 

Immediately Jim-Jams went into ecstasies. 
Hammond played his fish neatly and finally 
landed him. Whereupon Jim-Jams sprang 
upon the floundering trout and held him clasped 
to his breast. 

“I got him, HammonM I got him!” he 
shouted, clutching the wriggling fish manfully. 

Gil was convulsed at the youngster’s antics. 
He released the trout from the hook, and 
threading a twig through his gills, gave the 
fish to Jim-Jams to carry. This satisfied the 
boy for the moment, and Hammond continued 
his casting. He caught two more trout within 
the next few minutes, to the supreme gratifica¬ 
tion of Jim-Jams, and then continued down the 
stream to another pool, where he caught two 
more. After a few moments he hooked again. 
This was a big one, and Hammond had consider¬ 
able difficulty playing him. 

Jim-Jams, grasping a small shrub which grew 
on the bank of the pool, leaned over the edge, 
open-mouthed, watching the performance. 

‘ ‘ Look out! ’ 9 Hammond called to him. ‘ ‘ That 
bush is giving way!” The warning came too 


BLIND BROTHERS 


101 


late. The shallow-rooted shrub broke away 
from its fastenings, and Jim-Jams slid down 
the bank, feet first, into the pool. The water 
came up to his armpits. Hammond dropped 
his pole and leaning over the bank, caught the 
youngster by the arm and pulled him dripping 
from the creek. 

“Now you’ve gone and done it, Jim-Jams,” 
he remonstrated. “I told you to be careful.” 

Jim-Jams surveyed himself with unruffled 
composure. 

“I guess I got wet,” he said solemnly. 

Hammond chuckled at the youngster’s mat¬ 
ter-of-fact acceptance of the situation. 

“I’ll tell the world you did,” he said as he 
landed the trout, which had continued to strug¬ 
gle at the end of his line. “Well, it’s home and 
dry clothes for you, Son. We’ll postpone our 
attack on the Submarine until a more opportune 
moment, figuratively speaking. Your mother 
will probably have me electrocuted, as it is. ’ ’ 

Jim-Jams looked astonished. “Oh, Mamma 
doesn’t care,” he replied with the assurance 
of past experience. “I failed in with Papa, 
and she just laughed.” 

Jim-Jams’ prediction proved correct. A 
smiling Mrs. Lane met them at the kitchen 
door. 

‘ ‘ I knew that it would happen, ’ ’ she told Gil. 
“He never goes out with his father without 
coming back just dripping. Don’t mind, Mr. 
Hammond. Jim-Jams is accustomed to it, I 
assure you. And the strangest part of it is that 
it doesn’t make him sick.” 

Jim-Jams himself broke into the conversa¬ 
tion. 


102 


BLIND BROTHERS 


4 ‘ Oli Mamma, Mamma, ’ ’ he cried , 11 we caught 
a big one, and another, and I failed into the 
creek. I’m wet. See?” 

“I should say I do see! You come right with 
me and get into some dry clothes. And if you 
get them mussed up before your father comes 
back I ’ll put you to bed—do you see ? ’ ’ 

Jim-Jams evidently did not “see”; for, as 
she led him away, Hammond heard the boy tell¬ 
ing her in very excited tones of the first fish 
which Gil had caught. 

“—and Mamma, I failed right on top of him, 
like I did the old rooster the other day, and he 
didn’t even squawk. Mamma, why don’t fishes 
squawk? Why don’t they?” 


Hammond spent the rest of the morning put¬ 
ting his room at the ranger station in order. 
It was a comfortable little place, with a window 
facing south, up the valley. He fastened a num¬ 
ber of hooks to the wall, and built a shelf over 
them. To this he hung a curtain which Mrs. 
Lane sent him by Jim-Jams, giving the im¬ 
promptu wardrobe an appearance of neatness. 
An army blanket spread over his steamer trunk 
made a comfortable window seat. 

On the wall he tacked various curios and 
souvenirs from his trunk, taking care to leave 
out everything that would remind him of Cali¬ 
fornia. By the time Lane returned the little 
room had assumed a cozy, home-like appear¬ 
ance. The ranger helped him bring a heavy 
table, covered with green billiard cloth, a bat¬ 
tered though serviceable dresser, with a good 



BLIND BROTHERS 


103 


mirror, and several chairs from the storeroom 
above the office. These completed his furniture. 

By the time they had finished arranging these 
Jim-Jams came to inform them that the noon 
meal—they called it dinner, of course—was 
ready. As they sat down Lane handed his wife 
two letters. 

“One’s from Helen, I think,’’ he told her. 

“I must read it right away,” she exclaimed, 
as she opened one of the letters. 

“Helen is my younger sister,” she told Gil. 
“She has been spending a few days on the 
Coast. She expects to visit us this summer.” 

‘ ‘ She ’s a schoolmarm, ’ ’ Lane added. ‘ ‘ When 
she comes you’ll probably have an opportunity 
to brighten up your education.” 

Hammond thought he detected a meaning 
twinkle in the glance which the ranger ex¬ 
changed with his wife. 

“Oh, she’s not that kind of school teacher, 
Mr. Hammond,” denied Mrs. Lane. 

“Still, a schoolmarm is a schoolmarm, my 
dear. You’ll have to admit that.” 

He winked at Hammond. Mrs. Lane gave 
her husband a withering glance. 

“I was a teacher, Jim Lane, before you mar¬ 
ried me, wasn’t I? You never let the fact cast 
any damper on your exuberance of spirit. I 
actually believe you are trying to prejudice Mr. 
Hammond against my sister, without his ever 
having seen her. You make me furious.” 

“My spirit is humbled, my dear,” said the 
ranger in mock humility. “I grovel in abject 
submission. You win, Mabel. A schoolmarm 
is not a teacher; and a teacher is not a 
schoolmarm. Black is white. Helen is an angel. 


104 


BLIND BROTHERS 


I am a monster—a base schemer. But my 
intention was innocent, my dear. I was only 
trying to do this young man a favor—to bid 
him take warning from my own heart-breaking 
example; but it’s no use—no use! You see—” 
turning to Gil—“I haven’t a chance in the 
world. She takes my own miserable plight and 
hurls it in my very teeth to mock me. Behold, 
behold how the mighty have fallen! 

61 Still, the wages of slavery aren’t so terrible. 
One grows hardened to the captivity—” 

He grinned maliciously at his wife, who would 
not condescend to reply to his oration. 

“Helen will be here a week from tomorrow,” 
Mrs. Lane said as she folded the letter. “I do 
wish, Jim, you would try not to be so flippant.” 

Hammond noticed that she gave her husband 
a smile very much like the one she had given 
Jim-Jams, when he returned dripping from the 
river. 

“Very well, my dear; I’ll try,” returned 
Lane. 

“You see how it is with a hen-pecked hus¬ 
band, Hammond,” he said, with a look of 
pseudo-resignation. 


IX 


During the next few days, Hammond rapidly 
adjusted himself to the routine of the ranger 
station. He found the work quiet and pleasant. 
Save for a fit of brooding now and then, he did 
not allow himself to worry over the California 
trouble. The Lanes lost no opportunity to ex¬ 
tend him their courtesy and friendship. With 
a few discreet words, the ranger gave his wife 
an inkling of the situation in regard to Gil’s 
troubles; and Mrs. Lane, by innumerable small 
actions, tactful and friendly, strove to make 
his days pleasant ones. 

In his small and noisy way, Jim-Jams did 
much to help Gil forget his troubles. The 
youngster had taken a strong liking to Gil, and 
dogged his footsteps whenever possible. Brood¬ 
ing and bitterness, in the face of the boy’s 
rapid fire of questions and profound optimism, 
became an absurdity. 

One afternoon Lane handed the young man 
a copy of the local paper, the Noxon Ledger. 

“Begins to look as though we were booked 
for a little oil excitement up here on the river, ’ ’ 
he said, pointing to a front-page article with 
the heading, “Beaver Biver Well a Certainty.” 

Hammond glanced at the article. 

“The proposed Beaver Biver oil well is at 
last a certainty,” he read. “The Northwestern 
Oil Company, which has been doing consider¬ 
able investigating of oil prospects on the river, 
gave out yesterday, through their representa- 

105 


106 


BLIND BROTHERS 


tive, Mr. C. E. Parker, of Great Falls, that the 
proposed well is to be drilled immediately. 

‘ ‘ Based on the reports of the geologist which 
the N. W. sent to investigate the field, and on 
the confirmation of Mr. Harrison Christy, a 
mining engineer and oil man of undoubted rep¬ 
utation, leases have been secured and a test- 
well is to be spudded in at the earliest possible 
date. The location of the well has already been 
decided upon. A standard rig will be shipped 
here within the week.’ ’ 

But Hammond was not thinking of oil pros¬ 
pects on Beaver River, just then. The paper 
had said that Harrison Christy was connected 
with the enterprise. That meant that the engi¬ 
neer undoubtedly would be on the ground while 
the proposed well was being drilled. Christy 
knew Hammond’s story. Would the man tell 
what he knew T ? Christy had seemed to be a 
decent, likable fellow. Still, the chances were 
all in favor of his telling of the California epi¬ 
sode, should there be any occasion for his doing 
so. 

Gil wondered whether or not it would be best 
for him to leave the river. For all he knew, 
there might be papers out for his arrest in 
California. Christy might inform the Univer¬ 
sity authorities of his whereabouts. Let him. 
Gil decided that he would stay and face the 
thing. He could not run all his life. No matter 
where he went, the thing seemed to follow him. 
No; he would stay and fight it out. Let Christy 
say what he might. Lane would stand by him, 
Hammond felt. And the ranger undoubtedly 
needed someone upon whom he could rely for 
the summer’s work. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


107 


Since their fight with the Meighans, neither 
Hammond nor the ranger had encountered 
either of the three. The older son, Bill, Ham¬ 
mond had never seen. But the ranger was cer¬ 
tain that the ex-convict would try to make good 
his threat, and that he was only waiting for a 
suitable opportunity to do so. 

Frequently, when the afternoon’s work was 
completed, Lane would take the younger man 
for an hour or so of fishing. The ranger was 
an ardent fisherman and was very skilful in 
wrapping and painting flies. Sometimes the 
two were accompanied by Jim-Jams, who usu¬ 
ally succeeded in getting into mischief of some 
form or other. 

On one of these afternoon excursions Lane 
took Gil to the pool in which the much-talked-of 
trout, the Submarine, was reported to keep him¬ 
self. Thereafter they usually managed to make 
a few casts into the pool when either of them 
happened to be out fishing. On several oc¬ 
casions they succeeded in catching trout in the 
pool, but none which might have been mistaken 
for the Submarine. Hammond began to think 
that the fish was a myth, although Lane as¬ 
sured him that he had hooked the trout, and 
several others claimed to have seen him. 

One day Flathead Joe, an old Indian who 
had been employed to do odd jobs around the 
station, told the young man a rather fanciful 
story about the trout, stating that it was the 
returned spirit of an Indian princess, and that 
“big medicine” would be needed to catch the 
fish. Although Gil smiled at the story, the old 
Indian’s tale gave the trout a rather romantic 
interest. The young man began to spend many 


108 


BLIND BROTHERS 


of his leisure hours down by the big pool with 
its flickering green shadows. 


The week passed almost before Hammond 
realized that it was gone. On Sunday morning 
the ranger backed “Elizabeth’’ out of the shed 
and prepared for a trip to town. There had 
been a heavy rain the night before, removing 
for the present all danger from forest fires. 

“Better come along, unless you have some¬ 
thing else to do,” Lane urged. “My wife’s 
sister, Helen, is coming in on Forty-two today. 
You heard Mabel speak of her. If she can stand 
our kind of life, she will spend several weeks 
up here.” 

Hammond agreed to go. 

4 ‘ Better not dress up, ’ 9 Lane told him. ‘ ‘ Sun¬ 
day doesn’t call for it up here on the river; 
and it looks like more rain. Besides, we might 
have another rough and tumble with our good 
friends, the Meighans. They will be in town 
today, as it is Sunday, and will probably be 
drunk. I don’t want any trouble on my hands, 
with Helen along; so I’m taking this as a moral 
persuader. ’ ’ 

He drew a thirty-two automatic Colt from 
his trousers’ pocket. Hammond glanced up at 
the deer’s foot rack, upon which hung several 
rifles, and three or four revolvers, in holsters. 

“Shall I take one?” the young man asked. 

“Yes, if you wish. Of course, it probably 
isn’t necessary, and if it were, the guns could 
be used only as a last resort. You understand 
that. Rangers are allowed to carry weapons. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


109 


We aren’t violating any law by carrying the 
guns. An automatic is a mighty forceful ar¬ 
gument; many times it prevents trouble.” 

Hammond thought the ranger’s precautions 
were rather needless. But he selected a thirty- 
two Colt police revolver from the rack, and 
strapped a shoulder holster under his woolen 
shirt. Mrs. Lane gave her husband a list of 
things to get at the store, which Lane told Ham¬ 
mond, would be open till noon, and they drove 
away, with Jim-Jams wailing lustily to be taken 
along. 

When they arrived at the ferry they saw that 
the river had been swollen considerably by the 
recent rains. It now rushed along, a surging, 
muddy flood, instead of the clear, lazy stream 
which Gil had first seen. The old Chinaman 
was not in sight. Lane gave a hallo, and after 
a few minutes Sam Wah and a man on horse¬ 
back came out of the woods where the road 
turned down the river and boarded the ferry. 

Hammond’s attention was attracted by the 
rider. The man was tall—he appeared to be 
over six feet. He was powerfully built, and 
sat on his horse with an easy grace. He wore 
the leather, brad-studded chaps of a cowboy, 
with a gray sombrero, its brim twisted into a 
rakish droop. Close-cropped black hair was 
visible under the hat. His eyes were dark, close 
together, small and shifty. His nose was 
beaked, like that of a Jew, but there was nothing 
of the Jew in his expression. His mouth was 
loosely set, drooping at the corners. The fellow 
reminded Hammond of a cowboy villain of the 
movies. He did not speak to Lane. 

‘ ‘ If they strike oil up on the river, we ’ll prob- 


110 


BLIND BROTHERS 


ably get a bridge here, ’ 5 Lane said as the ferry 
plowed its way across the surging stream. ‘ ‘ As 
it is, all heavy traffic has to go around by Bear- 
tooth. This ferry is pretty uncertain, especially 
during high water. It has broken loose a few 
times—came near drowning some people last 
year. Washed up on that little island down 
there, or they would have gone over White 
Horse Rapids, to the left of the island. The 
current is stronger to the left this year. Any¬ 
one cut adrift wouldn’t have a chance.” 

Gil noticed that the man on horseback was 
listening closely to what Lane said. The rider 
turned and looked at the ranger with a curious 
expression on his face. When they reached 
the landing he rode ashore, without waiting 
for the Chinaman to secure the boat with the 
usual hitch around a pile. 

“Who was the cowboy!” Gil asked as they 
drove into town. 

“That was Bill Meighan,” Lane replied. 
“Wonder what he and Old Sam were doing out 
there in the bushes. Moonshine cache, probably. 
Bill might have been getting tanked up for the 
week-end. ’ ’ 

When they arrived in Noxon the streets were 
lined with blackboards, trucks and cars. Sun¬ 
day was market day for the ranchers from the 
outlying districts, Hammond learned. There 
was also the usual number of people who had 
come to town simply because the day was Sun¬ 
day, and they had nowhere else to go. Most of 
the men addressed Lane with words of good- 
natured banter. A few made jocular remarks 
about his encounter with the Meighans. It 
was evident that the affair was public gossip. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


111 


Hammond looked about the street for Bill 
Meighan, but he was not to be seen. 

The east-bound train was due in a few min¬ 
utes. Lane purchased the list of articles which 
his wife had given him, and placed them in a 
box, on the running board of the car. Ham¬ 
mond made a few purchases himself, including 
a complete outfit of fishing tackle. By the time 
they had finished their buying, the whistle of 
the incoming train sounded up the track. Lane 
drove in front of the little station. The train 
drew up and the usual few straggling passen¬ 
gers began to alight. 

A slow drizzle had begun. Hammond put on 
his army raincoat, and stood by the car, watch¬ 
ing, with considerable curiosity, the passengers 
alight. Suddenly he noticed Bill Meighan, who 
had come from the rear of the station, standing 
near Lane, in front of the entrance to the train. 

A girl, smartly dressed in a neat, becoming 
traveling suit, was descending the steps of the 
Pullman. Suddenly Meighan pushed forward, 
and elbowing the porter aside, assisted her to 
the platform. Gil caught a glimpse of her fea¬ 
tures. 

She was the girl he had seen in the station at 
Portland! 

Thanking Meighan with a smile, she turned 
to meet Lane, as he pushed his way through the 
little knot of platform stragglers. The ranger 
and the girl exchanged hearty greetings; then 
he glared for a moment at Meighan, who, with 
an elaborate bow, had doffed his sombrero in 
answer to the girl’s smile of thanks. He stood 
bareheaded in the rain, §miling with a derisive, 
sneering leer. 


112 


BLIND BE OTHERS 


Gil started forward; but the ranger turned 
and led the girl to the car. 

4 ‘Helen, I want you to meet Mr. Hammond, 
who is assistant ranger up at the station this 
summer. Miss Frasier, Mr. Hammond, ” he 
said easily, as though nothing had happened. 

“How do you do, Mr. Hammond?” Helen 
smiled pleasantly, as she held out her hand. 

Hammond was again conscious of the joyous 
lilt in her voice which had first attracted him. 
As they shook hands, a warm flush mounted 
beneath his coat of tan. He was glad of the 
rain. He helped her into a front seat beside 
the ranger and took a rear seat. Lane and the 
girl chatted pleasantly as they drove to the 
river, Helen plying her brother-in-law w T ith a 
variety of questions. 

At the ferry they found the boat drawn up to 
the landing; but the Chinaman was nowhere to 
be seen. The boat itself was locked to the land¬ 
ing. Lane, because of his connection with the 
Forest Service, had been provided with a key, 
in case of emergencies. He drove the car onto 
the platform, and unlocking the boat, shoved it 
out into the stream. 

Helen stood on the platform, in spite of the 
rain, very much interested in the working of the 
ferry. 

“Isn’t it a novel old boat?” she asked. 

“ ‘Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night 
Sailed off in a wooden shoe—’ ” 

Gil laughed. “But this isn’t exactly ‘a river 
of crystal light,’ ” he replied. “I imagine we 
might be compared more fittingly to our good 
father, Noah, after it had rained forty days and 
forty nights. ’ ’ 


BLIND BROTHERS 


113 


“I gather from that, that Elizabeth here—” 
he patted the Ford— 4 ‘and I are intended to 
impersonate the animals,” Lane remarked 
dryly. 

As he spoke the wire cable which connected 
the forward traveling sheave with the front 
pontoon of the boat pulled out of its fastenings 
and dropped into the stream. Instantly the big 
boat, held only by the rear sheave and cable, 
swung around with the pontoons broadside to 
the current. The strain on the single cable was 
more than doubled. 

Gil sprang to the place where the rear cable 
was attached to the pontoon and grasped the 
cable, in order to lessen the strain on the bolted 
staple. As he did so, he saw that the nuts had 
been removed from the staple; and that only 
the fact that the boat had swung around, caus¬ 
ing the pull to be from the side, instead of the 
top of the staple, was enabling the latter to hold. 
It might give away at any moment, setting them 
adrift on the river! To avoid the rapids would 
be practically impossible. 

“Get a rope!—from the tool-box—quick!” 
he shouted to the ranger, as he put out all his 
strength to ease the strain on the cable. Lane 
snatched a rope from the tool-box on the run¬ 
ning board of the Ford, and quickly tied it 
around the sill supporting the platform and 
through the loop in the cable. 

With the detachment of the forward cable, 
the diagonal push of the current against the 
pontoons had been lost. The big boat had 
ceased to move shoreward. They were stranded 
in mid-river, with the entire force of the stream 
against the side of the pontoons. The upper 


114 


BLIND BROTHERS 


one was forced down almost to the water line 
by the tremendous weight against it. The 
muddy torrent roared angrily around the sides, 
as though anxious to tear the boat from its frail 
support. 

As soon as Lane had tied the rear cable se¬ 
curely, Gil released his hold and snatched up 
the boat hook. After a few failures, he suc¬ 
ceeded in catching the front cable, which was 
being swept down stream. He pulled it aboard 
and with Lane’s help, forced the lower end of 
the boat around, so that the pontoons were once 
more diagonal to the course of the stream. 
They managed to hold it that way for a few 
moments, while the girl secured the end of the 
cable to a two-by-four, with a tire chain. She 
did her work well, following Lane’s directions. 
They released their grasp on the cable. It held. 
The ferry had already resumed its shoreward 
motion. 

For a moment the three stood without words. 
The strain had been too great readily to en¬ 
courage casual speech. Then Lane heaved a 
huge sigh of relief. 

4 ‘That was a close call,” he said, “too close.” 

“Did you see those staples?” Gil asked. 
“The nuts were removed from both.” 

They examined the rear staple, which was 
still in its place. Both nuts had been freshly 
removed. 

“Reckon there isn’t any doubt about who did 
it,” the ranger said. “The trouble is, we 
haven’t any proof. Our friends have started 
their little campaign, you see,” he added to Gil. 

“Who did it, Jim?” Helen asked. She was 
pale, Gil noted, but had not lost her presence of 


BLIND BROTHERS 


115 


mind, even when the danger was the greatest. 
“Some friends of ours,” Lane replied, “who 
were having their little practical joke—practi¬ 
cal from their viewpoint, at least. Fortunately, 
Gil caught that cable in time; and the joke 
didn’t succeed; or we would be going over the 
rapids down there, just about now.” 

4 4 Joke! ’ ’ exclaimed Helen. 4 4 It was murder. 
Isn’t there any way for them to be punished? 
Who could have done such a thing?” 

44 You can’t convict without witnesses. Who¬ 
ever did it naturally wouldn’t want a lot of 
spectators around. The Chinaman who runs 
the ferry might have had a hand in it, but I 
doubt that. 

4 4 Well, here we are. Better lock this old 
scow, Hammond, and put a sign on her. Some 
fool homesteader might try to cross. Plain, 
every-day mud sure feels good, after that 
voyage, I’ll say.” 


As they drove down the river Hammond’s 
thoughts returned to their predicament on the 
ferry. As he re-pictured the scene, and the 
danger which it had involved, the countenance 
of Bill Meighan, with his mocking leer, arose 
before him. Helen was right. The thing had 
been virtually an attempt at mutder—-the cold¬ 
blooded sneaking kind. Gil did not doubt for 
a moment that Meighan had removed the 
staples. The fellow had heard Lane’s conver¬ 
sation on the boat. That, itself would have 
suggested the idea to him. The Chinaman 
might have been an accomplice; more probably, 
Meighan had waited until Sam Wah had locked 



116 


BLIND BROTHERS 


the boat and gone to his lunch, before tamper¬ 
ing with the staples. 

As the ranger had said, there was no legal 
way of bringing Meighan to task. Personal 
opinions, based on circumstantial evidence, 
would not convict. But Gil did not want them 
to convict. He felt a strong desire to deal with 
Meighan, personally. Although he had never 
even spoken to the fellow, Hammond realized 
that he and Meighan were to be—were already 
—enemies. The man’s conduct on the station 
platform also demanded a settlement. Al¬ 
though that had been between Meighan and the 
ranger, Gil found himself resenting the thing 
as much as if the insult had been to himself. 

Hammond studied the girPs profile, as she 
talked to Lane, or watched the cliffs which could 
be seen now and then, through the vistas in the 
trees, to the right. Helen lost nothing of her 
charm during this close-up inspection. Gil 
noted the delicate modeling of her chin, the long 
curving line from its tip—the neck line, so dear 
to the heart of the magazine illustrator. It was 
a good line. Her mouth was pleasant—human, 
Gil thought. He disliked the excessive Cupid’s 
bow effect in a girl’s mouth, anyway. Helen’s 
smile was a revelation. 

And she had not screamed or fainted on the 
ferry, as many girls of his acquaintance would 
have done. Instead, she had been prompt to 
assist him and the ranger, when their united 
efforts could scarcely hold the boat. She had 
nerve; her excitement had been no greater than 
the ranger’s and his own. 

Hammond was surprised at his interest in the 
girl. In the station at Portland, despite his own 


BLIND BROTHERS 


117 


morbidity, be bad instinctively responded to ber 
joyous laugb and sparkling vitality; but be bad 
expected never to see ber again—bad accepted 
ber merely as a ‘ship that bad passed in tbe 
night,’ and bad shown a friendly beacon. Un¬ 
consciously, she bad lighted tbe fog of bis bit¬ 
terness with a smile and a laugb. And now tbe 
‘ship that had passed in the night’ bad hove to, 
and was anchoring alongside. 

His sister’s and Dorothy Paige’s lack of faith 
bad served to embitter him against women in 
general, as well as against the rest of the world. 
The ranger’s and bis wife’s friendliness bad 
helped to alleviate this bitterness. Would this 
girl have faith in him, be wondered? Would 
her friendly smile change to one of cold hauteur 
and disdain, when she learned that be bad been 
accused of being a thief? 

Gil did not realize that his new environment 
of two weeks, with its new interests, bad for 
tbe time being at least, wiped entirely from bis 
mind tbe old environment of a lifetime. Cali¬ 
fornia, Dorothy Paige, Powell, bis sister, Old 
Doc England—all were forgotten. In their 
place were tbe ranger and bis family, Helen, 
and tbe Meigbans. 

Nor was Gil yet aware that tbe positions of 
relative importance in this last series were 
destined to undergo several interesting changes. 


X 


When they arrived at the station, and Mrs. 
Lane had greeted her sister, the ranger told his 
wife about the ferry misadventure. That lady 
expressed proper indignation. 

“The contemptible sneaks!” she exclaimed. 
“Have you got to go through with all that 
again, Jim? You remember the things they did 
when we first came to the river. Isn’t there 
some way to stop them, without a repetition of 
that feud of three years ago? 

“They have been trying to drive Jim from 
the river, ever since we came,” she explained 
to Helen and Gil. “Now that the father and 
Bill are out of the penitentiary, they mean to 
start it all over again. And this time they won’t 
stop at anything—even murder. What they 
tried to do today shows that. Can’t you have 
them arrested, Jim?” 

“Not without proof, my dear. Gil and I will 
just have to watch our step—and give them 
enough rope to hang themselves. It won’t take 
them long, I feel sure. “Well, as Elijah said to 
the ravens: When do we eat?” 

Mrs. Lane took Helen in charge, and the men 
were left to their own devices. 

“The girls will be dolling themselves up for 
dinner—it will be 4 dinner’ tonight, in Helen’s 
honor—so I reckon you and I might as well fol¬ 
low suit,” Lane told Gil. 

Hammond went to his room at the ranger 
station and changed his outdoor clothing for 

118 


BLIND BROTHERS 


119 


the blue serge suit which Mrs. Lane had pressed 
for him the day before. He selected a necktie 
from the rack beside the bureau and knotted it 
carefully over a soft silk collar. After a few 
more finishing touches he surveyed himself in 
the mirror and decided that he was presentable. 
He found himself experiencing the same pleas¬ 
ure which any man feels, after changing from 
work-a-day clothes to the fresh, well-fitting, 
conventional garb. 

When he returned to the bungalow he found 
Lane looking very neat and immaculate, in a 
loose-fitting gray suit, soft shirt, with a bow 
tie, and oxfords. Helen, dressed in a simple, 
though entirely charming housedress, with 
white pumps and stockings, was helping her 
sister lay the table. Jim-Jams had already 
departed to the realm of slumberland. 

Lane seated his wife at the table, while Ham¬ 
mond held Helena chair. 

“Permit me, my dear,” said the ranger. 
‘ ‘ Then, will you be kind enough to explain which 
of you fair ladies forgot to give me a knife and 
fork'?” 

He winked at Hammond. Both Mrs. Lane 
and her sister started to rise, but the ranger 
motioned them back. 

“Why,” said Helen, in astonishment, “I’m 
perfectly sure that I put them at your plate, 
Jim. What could have become of them? Are 
there spooks around?” 

“I do not doubt your statement for a mo¬ 
ment,” returned the ranger. “Let all house¬ 
hold spooks herewith consider themselves ab¬ 
solved. The mystery is solved by a simple 
exercise in deduction. 


120 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“You, my dear,” turning to his wife, “seeing 
that you understand my methods, should al¬ 
ready have found the answer, which lies at the 
door of our now slumbering offspring. 

“Some time before you entered, sir,” to 
Hammond, “I observed above-mentioned off¬ 
spring vainly endeavoring to lift the piano. 
With that as a premise, it is merely a step to 
suppose that he might try to accomplish this 
stupendous feat with those same homely and— 
er—missing utensils as fulcrums and levers. I 
shall now attempt to prove my deduction, and 
you all may behold the result,’ ’ 

He went to the piano and returned with the 
missing knife and fork. 

“You observe,” he continued, as he secured 
fresh ones from the sideboard, ‘ ‘ that the verac¬ 
ity of my deduction has been vindicated. You, 
my dear Helen, sit blameless before the world. 
This, my friends, is merely another example of 
the supremacy of mind. The—” 

“Oh, hush, Jim, for the love of heaven!” 
laughed Mrs. Lane. “You are always harping 
on the way women chatter. A sewing circle, 
discussing the minister’s new baby, couldn’t 
hold a candle to you. ’ ’ 

“But, my dear, suspicion hung over the fair 
name of your sister. Some—some, I maintain, 
would have accused her of an error of commis¬ 
sion or of omission. I withheld judgment, rely¬ 
ing on my powers of observation and deduction. 
The results which I have obtained have 
amply—” 

“Your powers of reasoning and the results 
which you obtain are certainly marvelous,” 
Helen interrupted. “If you are such a seer, 


BLIND BEOTHEES 


121 


suppose you tell us just what Mr. Hammond is 
thinking about.” She glanced at Gil who was 
smiling at the ranger’s outburst. 

“Oh, that’s an easy one,”’ chuckled Lane. 
“Our honest but—er—pugilistic young friend 
is pondering very deeply as to how a man of my 
age, family and—er—perspicacity can conde¬ 
scend to make such a fool of himself. Am I 
not right, Hammond?” 

The young man laughed easily. “You win, 
Lane,” he said. “You are undoubtedly a mar¬ 
vel. One might be led to suppose that you are 
telepathic, or that you work clairvoyantly. ” 

“It isn’t as bad as that. Still, I am some¬ 
thing of a believer in both of those things. 
Have you ever had any personal experience 
with mediums?” asked the ranger. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose; if 
one may believe the current magazines and 
newspapers. I knew a man in the army who 
was either a medium or else one whale of a 
mind reader. It is all a mystery to me. Still, 
I believe the psychologists have made an effort 
to explain it all through the workings of the sub¬ 
conscious mind, whatever that is. 

“What are your ideas on spiritualism, Miss 
Frasier?” 

“I haven’t any definite ones, I’m afraid,” 
replied the girl. “I admire the work of investi¬ 
gation which some of the big men in the scien¬ 
tific field are doing. And, of course, I believe 
them to be honest in their attempts to prove 
survival after death. But I, myself, am anxious 
to see the things which they have seen, or 
believe themselves to have seen. It is some¬ 
thing not to be accepted as a matter-of-course, 


122 


BLIND BROTHERS 


in the way we have been taught to believe the 
religious and political creeds of the past. I am 
anxious to have something reasonable and 
definite to believe; still, I am waiting to be 
shown, I suppose. It all seems too big and 
vital to be accepted on hearsay.” 

“Don’t you think that it is just that desire 
for something definite which is largely respon¬ 
sible for the present wave of spiritualism?” 
asked Mrs. Lane. 

“That, and the many bereavements of the 
recent war,” replied her husband. “Of course, 
spiritualism has been an existing creed for 
many years; but the war has given it a new 
impetus. Thinking people, as you say, my dear, 
have begun to look for some creed which har¬ 
monizes with the teachings of modern science. 
Whether or not spiritualism does, is still a ques¬ 
tion. Personally, I am, as Helen says, waiting 
to be shown. 

“By the way, Hammond, Mabel occasionally 
consents to tell fortunes; and she certainly pos¬ 
sesses unusual powers at five-hundred and 
whist, if that may be taken as a recommenda¬ 
tion. We’ll have her read your dismal past, 
present and future for you, one of these days.” 

His past! Gil had forgotten that he had a 
past. The ranger’s words brought it all back 
to him with shocking vividness. 

“I would suggest that we hear Miss Frasier’s 
first,” he replied casually; but Lane, seeing Gil 
flush, realized his mistake, after it was too late, 
and shifted the conversation. 

After they had finished the meal, Mrs. Lane 
suggested that they have some music, and they 
adjourned to the living room. Helen seated 



BLIND BROTHERS 


123 


herself at the piano and played a few selections 
which Mrs. Lane placed before her. The girl 
played well. She had a confident touch, and 
was sure of her music. Presently she opened 
her own music roll and taking out several popu¬ 
lar songs, placed them on the piano. 

“I suppose it is sacreligious to say so, but 
I like the popular songs best of all,” she told 
Hammond who stood by the piano, turning her 
music. “I have even been accused of being ad¬ 
dicted to jazz,” she added with a smile. 

“Don’t you sing, Hammond?” asked the 
ranger. “It seems to me that I have heard 
you making sundry and melodious noises which 
might possibly indicate vocal accomplishment.” 

“Not much accomplishment,” Gil answered 
as he looked over the music. “I sing a little.” 

He picked out a waltz-ballad which he had 
sung on several occasions in California. “I’ll 
try this one, if Miss Frasier will help me,” he 
told them. 

Helen vamped a few measures of the accom¬ 
paniment and he began. Gil had a rather well- 
trained baritone voice, and sang with confi¬ 
dence. He loved music. Helen joined him in 
the chorus with a soft mezzo-soprano obligato. 
The two voices blended well and the effect was 
pleasing. When they finished Lane and his 
wife applauded vigorously. 

“That’s good stuff,” complimented the 
ranger. ‘ ‘ That little oriole trill that Helen gets 
in goes great. And you hold forth quite man¬ 
fully, Hammond. Try another.” 

“Thanks,” Gil smiled. “I developed my 
voice yelling at old Mike and Dan. They re¬ 
quire a high degree of excellence, I assure you. ’ ’ 


124 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Mike and Dan were the two work horses be¬ 
longing to the station. 

“Let’s try this one,” he suggested. “It has 
good harmony, and a place where you can get 
the trill-effect.” 

Helen glanced over the song. “I’ve never 
tried it,” she told him. “It’s one of the new 
ones I brought from the Coast. It looks easy, 
though.” 

She played a few measures softly, in order 
to get the swing. 

4 4 If you hold the G for three counts, and then 
the F sharp, the E and the F natural here, I’ll 
take the upper notes,” Gil told her, indicating 
a place in the chorus. “We may have to prac¬ 
tise it a bit. Let’s see what we can do with it.” 

The song was another waltz—“Honolulu 
Eyes.” It was meaningless as to words, but the 
chorus was one of those plaintive, haunting 
melodies, suggestive of palm trees and wailing 
ukeleles. Gil sang the verse to a subdued ac¬ 
companiment; Helen joined in the chorus with 
her softly trilling obligato. The Lanes were 
charmed with the duet, and insisted upon a 
repetition of it. As they repeated the chorus 
a second time, Hammond subdued the melody, 
and Helen trilled her obligato true and clear. 
The effect was bewitching. When they finished 
Hammond smiled at the girl and bowed with 
stage formality. She arose and dropped a 
courtesy. 

“The opening performance appears to be a 
success,” she laughed as the Lane’s clamored 
for more. They sang another selection, and 
then the ranger and his wife joined them in 
several old songs. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


125 


“It certainly is a surprise to find such, a good 
combination of talent up here on the river,” 
Mrs. Lane told them. “There is going to be a 
community dance and social at the schoolhouse, 
next Saturday night. I am on the entertain¬ 
ment committee. You two can consider your¬ 
selves booked. The more numbers you have 
prepared, the better.” 

“That will be fun, don’t you think?” asked 
Helen. 

“It surely will,” Gil assented. “I have a 
tenor banjo in the bottom of my trunk. We 
might work up some novelty stuff, to vary the 
program. ’ ’ 

“That’s just dandy!” Helen exclaimed. 
“Bring it over tomorrow. We’ll play them 
some jazz!” 


When Gil finally crossed the road to his room 
in the ranger station, it was nearly midnight. 
He had a pleasant feeling of being at peace with 
the world, such as he had not experienced since 
leaving California. Somehow, his troubles 
seemed to have slipped away into a shadowy 
corner of his consciousness. The wrong which 
had been done him—Dorothy Paige—his sister 
—his fraternity brothers—did they really mat¬ 
ter so much? Hadn’t most of the pain come 
from his own morbid brooding bitterness? 

And maybe the others hadn’t been so much 
to blame, after all. He couldn’t see their side 
of it. Even Powell—surely he must have had 
some excuse. The fellow had always been 
weak. Anyway, he, Gil, would stop brooding. 



126 BLIND BROTHERS 

The world was still a mighty good place to live 
in. There were the Lanes—they were true blue 
—and Helen Frasier. Something told Ham¬ 
mond that she also would be true blue. And 
then there was Dr. England—Good Old Doc! 
After all it was people like these who made life 
worth the living. Why worry about the others ? 

And the evening had been one of the most 
enjoyable ones which he had ever spent.—Ham¬ 
mond closed the gate behind him and passed 
through the office to his room, softly humming 
* 4 Honolulu Eyes.* ’ 


XI 


Helen set the bucket down and hitched np 
the belt of her riding trousers. Glancing at her 
shadow on the ground, she decided that it must 
be almost noon. She placed the bucket on a 
Sat rock and descending to the creek, bathed 
from her face and hand3 a little of the dust 
and berry stain with which they were liberally 
smudged. 

The stream gurgled merrily down the gulch, 
stopping now and then to spread out in a deep 
shadow-lined pool, or to tumble over a heap of 
boulders, or the trunk of some ancient jack-pine 
which had fallen from the hill-side. Only the 
cool splashing of the water broke the silence. 
Helen turned to survey the hill-sides. Xo one 
was visible upon their gray pine-fringed slopes. 

Seating herself on a large flat boulder which 
shelved out over a pool, she removed her ox¬ 
fords and stockings, and rolled up her laced 
trousers. How good the water felt on her dust- 
parched feet and ankles! 

Helen realized that she was hungry. Step¬ 
ping daintily over the rocks to where she had 
left the bucket, she brought it back to the pool, 
and with her feet hanging in the water, pro¬ 
ceeded to dine. The bucket was filled with 
huckleberries, big juicy ones, the kind that grow 
only in western Montana and eastern Idaho. 

Over at the far side of the pool a little swarm 

of gnats were circling crazily over its surface. 

Presentlv a flashing silverv bodv shot up from 

127 






128 


BLIND BROTHERS 


the depths and disappeared beneath the surface 
of the pool with a splash which sent the wave¬ 
lets rolling shoreward. The trout were dining 
too, she thought with a little smile, as she drew 
her feet from the water. 

She sat, hands clasped over her knees, her lips 
pursed wistfully as she softly whistled a tune 
and gazed into the green-black shadows of the 
pool. A boyishly trim little figure she was, 
there on the rock. The girl was clad in riding 
trousers, a soft green blouse, open at the collar, 
revealing in a most alluring manner the firm¬ 
ness and delicate lines of her neck and throat. 
A boy’s green cap, pulled over her gold-brown 
hair, protected her face from the rays of the 
sun. 

Fanciful pictures of nymphs, dryads and 
satyrs began to form themselves from the 
wreathing sun-kissed bubbles at the upper edge 
of the pool; and as she watched the little half¬ 
globes form and go floating across its flickering- 
surface, to be sucked in and engulfed by the 
small whirlpool at its lower extremity, her sun- 
touched features relaxed into a half-smile. 

That morning, after Mrs. Lane had left with 
Jim-Jams to visit one of the neighbors, Helen 
had donned her hiking clothes and gone berry¬ 
picking. The novelty of being alone in the hills 
appealed to her imagination. She reveled in 
the wealth of material which these lonely, rock- 
ribbed and pine-studded hills furnished for her 
fancies. 

Presently an inquisitive mosquito that had 
been hovering in the vicinity decided that her 
white blue-veined ankles would be an admirable 


BLIND BROTHERS 129 

field for activity, and Helen was awakened 
somewhat rudely from her reverie. 

“Oh, you hateful thing!” she said as she 
brushed the insect away and picked up her shoes 
and stockings. Drawing on one stocking, she 
laced the neat though dusty oxford, while she 
wriggled the toes of her other foot in the cooling 
water. She turned to reach for the other stock¬ 
ing. It was not there. She looked about some¬ 
what impatiently. The garment was nowhere 
to be seen. Then, gazing down into the pool, 
she caught sight of the missing stocking, some 
three feet below the surface, slowly sinking as 
it became saturated, to the bottom of the pool. 

“Oh, bother! Darn!” she exclaimed as she 
laced the other trousers’ leg. Helen had worn 
the stockings after the fashion of golfers, over 
the laced trousers, with a roll below the knee. 
The missing garment left revealed a rather con¬ 
spicuous portion of white ankle between the 
trousers bottom and the oxford. With a little 
grimace of reconciliation she began lacing the 
other shoe. 

A rock came tumbling down the shale slide 
which ended on the opposite side of the creek. 
Helen looked up with a start. A man was care¬ 
fully picking his way around the upper edge of 
the slide, some two hundred feet above her. She 
could hear the scrape of his hob-nailed boots 
on the rocks. 

She saw the man was Hammond. He carried 
a rigged fishing pole in his hand, and had a bas¬ 
ket slung over his shoulder. He cleared the 
upper edge of the slide and started down the 
hill. She hurriedly laced the oxford. Gil 
stopped at the opposite side of the pool. 


130 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“Hello!” lie called, “trying to locate the 
Submarine?” 

“The Submarine?” mystified. “I didn’t 
know that submarines were fresh-water ani¬ 
mals.” 

“This one is. Haven’t you heard about 
him ? ’ ’ 

Helen denied any knowledge of the Subma¬ 
rine. “Tell me about him,” she said. “Is he 
a spirit, or a joke?” 

“Neither; he’s a fish, the Grand Bolshevik, 
patriarch and rabbi of all the finny brethren in 
these parts. The homesteaders call him the 
Submarine. He has never been successfully 
hooked; and thereby hang many tales. Re¬ 
ports say that this old boy was at one time 
private secretary to Jonah’s whale.” 

‘ 4 Goodness! What a wealth of historical data 
he must have collected throughout the years! 
I should think you would try to cultivate his 
acquaintance. ’ ’ 

“Oh, I’ve made several advances; so has 
every one else in the neighborhood; but this old- 
timer is a snob. He doesn’t appreciate the 
value of our friendly solicitude, as Lane would 
say. He’s a grouch.” 

“Oh, he probably misses his master, the 
whale. What were you doing up on the rocks— 
prospecting for flying fish?” 

He laughed. “No; merely taking the longest 
and sweetest way around that patch of briars 
below the slide. 

“Were you going to the station? If so. I’ll 
play Jack to your Jill, and carry the bucket.” 

Helen was going to the station. “Tell me 
some more about the Submarine,” she said as 


BLIND BROTHERS 


131 


they wound their way up the narrow fisher¬ 
man’s path by the creek. 

“Flathead Joe—lie’s the old Indian who does 
the chores, you know—says that His Fishship 
is mighty bad medicine—claims that he is the 
returned spirit of an Indian princess. Person¬ 
ally, I think that as a princess, she must have 
been a vamp. ’ ’ 

“Yes, Sac-a-ge-wia, possibly. But she wasn’t 
a vamp, that I remember. He might be Cleo¬ 
patra, or Salome, or Helen of Troy. ‘Vamp’ 
would be a much better name than ‘ Submarine, ’ 
don’t you think? If he could be caught and 
domesticated, the Vamp would probably make 
some one a fortune in the movies.” 

“That would be a pity. I have always hated 
domesticated fish. Let’s just leave him a sub¬ 
marine, or a vamp. 

‘ ‘ By the way, why don’t you try your hand at 
scraping an acquaintance with His Vamps? 
Might counter-vamp him, you know,” he 
grinned. 

“That would be exciting, wouldn’t it? But 
I’m afraid my efforts wouldn’t receive the over¬ 
whelming success which they would deserve. 
I’m not very experienced as a fisherman—or as 
a vamp, ’ ’ with a twinkle. 

“Could learn both, I imagine. Jim can give 
you some mighty good pointers—about fishing, 
not vamping. I’ll teach you to cast myself, if 
you wish. You’d like it. Suppose we have a 
little tournament, the two of us. We could make 
a wager for the other to pay the one who suc¬ 
ceeds in beguiling His Vamps.” 

“That would be fun. What would you sug¬ 
gest for a wager?” 



132 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“We can arrange that later. When I come 
over to practise our act for Saturday, this eve¬ 
ning, PH give you some casting lessons, out in 
the front yard.’ ’ 

When they arrived at the ranger station, 
Hammond left the girl at the front of the bun¬ 
galow and went around to the rear, where he 
placed the trout on ice, in the refrigerator. He 
had cleaned the fish at the creek. 

Mrs. Lane met Helen at the door. At the 
sight of the girl’s stockingless ankle the older 
woman burst out laughing. 

“Helen Frasier,’’ she exclaimed, “where is 
your stocking?” 

“Oh, my goodness! I lost it down in the 
creek,” Helen laughed. “And to think that I 
talked ‘fishes’ for almost an hour, with that 
blessed man, and I absolutely stockingless! ’ ’ 


“Who and what is Mr. Hammond?” the girl 
asked her sister, later in the afternoon. 

“He’s the assistant ranger; that’s all we 
know about him,” Mrs. Lane replied. “He 
seems to be a very fine young man. Jim swears 
by him; but he hinted that there was some mys¬ 
tery connected with Mr. Hammond. However 
that may be, I cannot but feel that the young 
man is all right. You two seem to be getting on 
famously.” 

“Oh, lie’s quite fascinating,” Helen replied, 
smiling at her sister. 

But the girl was thinking of the owner of a 
big maroon football sweater, with its silver M, 
and gold service stripes, which lay in the bot- 



BLIND BROTHERS 


133 


tom of her trunk. Like every college girl who 
is possessed of a certain degree of beauty and 
charm, Helen had had her innumerable small 
love affairs. She had taken none of them seri¬ 
ously, had accepted them as something that 
went with college life. Some of them had ter¬ 
minated with vacation. Others had simply 
worn themselves out; and one had terminated 
through mutual agreement. 

Helen was not a flirt, by any means; but the 
prevailing fashions in school had run to such 
small affairs. All had been more or less pleas¬ 
ant—the boys were fine, irresponsible fellows. 
It had been give and take. Her conscience did 
not trouble her over any of them. 

With big “Sandy” Dinwiddie, the owner of 
the football sweater, matters had been differ¬ 
ent. Helen was not in love with Sandy, and had 
told him so with the same frankness she had 
used when other affairs had approached a more 
or less critical stage. But the big, good-humored 
Scotchman had practically worshipped the girl 
since he, as a raw-boned freshman, had watched 
her lead her sorority basketball team to a uni¬ 
versity championship. 

Helen was then a sophomore in the Univer¬ 
sity of Montana, at Missoula. It was not until 
his junior and her senior year that Sandy had 
gained courage enough to make advances. The 
big, bashful football star had taken her to the 
athletic ball; and thereafter they were together 
as often as Helena work in the domestic sci¬ 
ence laboratory and Sandy’s forestry studies 
would permit. 

Sometimes they took long walks up the long 
crooked trail which wound around the side of 


134 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Mount Sentinel, shadowing the little university. 
Occasionally they went on outing parties, some¬ 
times to a promising motion picture or road 
show. They were invariably together at all 
university dances and similar affairs. 

Helen liked and admired the big Scotchman; 
but there were many little things which she con¬ 
sidered vital in her own scheme of life, that 
Sandy could not make head or tail of. It was 
during their long walks together that the girl 
first became conscious of this. In her eager en¬ 
thusiasm, she would pour out to the big fellow 
her many ideals and plans of life. They were 
vital to Helen, but to Sandy they were simply 
Greek. He would sit at her feet in rapt atten¬ 
tiveness, watching the play of expressions on 
her features; but when the girl would ask him 
for an opinion, or confirmation of some of her 
own, Sandy would flush and stammer; and 
Helen would know that he had not listened to 
a word she had uttered. 

To Sandy, life was not a thing of airy day¬ 
dreams and visions; it was a simple, obvious 
fact. While he pondered for hours over Helen’s 
vagaries, he could make nothing of them. Girls 
were different, he decided, and let it go at that. 
He continued to worship Helen with a dog-like 
faithfulness; and the girl, although she did 
not realize it, would have been better pleased 
with him had he shown a little more spirit. 
His meekness was not in keeping with his size 
and athletic prowess. 

The week before her graduation in June, 
Sandy had managed to collect sufficient courage 
to beg her to take his fraternity pin, and wait 
for him until he had graduated and made a 


BLIND BROTHERS 


135 


start in his profession; but Helen would not 
agree to this. But she finally consented to take 
his latest football sweater, which Sandy had 
had the coach order three sizes too small, so 
that it would fit her. Helen wore it around the 
campus during the evenings until it had to be 
discarded for the conventional cap and gown 
of commencement week. 

Since leaving the university, Helen had given 
considerable thought to Sandy, and to life in 
general. While she prided herself on being self- 
supporting, the girl did not expect to make 
teaching a life-work. Eventually, she knew that 
she would marry. To her, marriage seemed 
the proper fulfilment of life. 

But Helen was not in a hurry. She had 
ideals, and had dreamed dreams. Whimsically, 
she told herself that she was waiting for the 
Prince. As much as she liked and admired 
Sandy, the girl knew that he could never qualify 
in that role. A big, good-natured Hercules, yes; 
but not the Prince—Her Prince, as she had cre¬ 
ated him in her fancies. 

About Hammond the girl had not yet anal¬ 
yzed her feelings. He was unmistakably a man 
of refinement. Although quiet and reserved, 
he was sure of himself; and he was not dull. 
Helen had watched his face light up with inter¬ 
est and appreciation during serious moments in 
their conversation. When he spoke his words 
had been few and to the point. She liked the 
slow, humorous smile which crinkled the cor¬ 
ners of his mouth when Lane touched up his 
conversation with a subtle bit of drollery, and 
the twinkle which came into his eyes as he 
watched Jim-Jams during one of the young- 


136 


BLIND BROTHERS 


sterns rampages. When Gil’s features were in 
repose, there was a cold seriousness about them 
which Helen could not understand. When he 
smiled he looked like a big boy. 

Down at the pool that morning, for the first 
time since she had been on the River, Hammond 
had cast aside his reserve, and had jested with 
her about the Submarine, in the free and easy 
repartee of the campus. Many of his remarks 
had been whimsically imaginative—some of 
them ridiculous in their absurdity. Helen had 
a notion that he would understand many of the 
things which Sandy had failed to grasp. 

Her sister had said that there was a mystery 
about Hammond—that they knew nothing of his 
past, except that he had come from California. 
During one of their conversations, he had told 
her of some of his experiences in France; but 
had never mentioned friends or relatives. He 
had made no mention of his home or school, 
although he bore all the markings of a univer¬ 
sity man. 

Yes, there must be some mystery about him, 
the girl decided, and unconsciously her interest 
in Hammond increased. He was certainly very 
likable—could he be the Prince? Helen won¬ 
dered—. 



XII 


As Hammond sat gazing out over the valley, 
from the office of the ranger station, he caught 
the loud chug-chug of a heavily loaded motor. 
Presently he saw several trucks, piled high 
with timbers and machinery, turn out of the 
main road and enter a field at the lower border 
of the Knutson ranch. They moved slowly 
across the field and stopped near the other side 
of the valley, where the men began unloading 
near the edge of the woods which came down 
from the hillside. So there was where they 
were going to drill the proposed oil well, Gil 
thought as he watched the men finish unloading 
and depart once more for Noxon. 

Well, that meant that Harrison Christy would 
be on the scene in a few days, Hammond told 
himself as he picked up his ruling pen and re¬ 
sumed work on the tracing which was tacked 
to the drawing-board in front of him. Let 
Christy come; if the man told what he knew, 
well and good. Gil was not afraid that his tale 
would make any difference with the Lanes. 
And Helen—while he felt that the girl would 
believe in him, the young man’s experience with 
Dorothy Paige made him doubtful of every girl. 
If Helen belonged to the class of fair-weather 
friends he wanted to know it. Gil was sur¬ 
prised to find himself anxious for an opportun¬ 
ity to prove the girl’s loyalty. 

He made a mental comparison of the two 

girls. Both were well-bred and attractive, 

137 


138 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Dorothy was beautiful, with all the perfect as¬ 
surance and graces that go with conscious 
beauty. Helen’s charm, on the other hand, lay 
not so much in actual perfection of features 
as in her buoyancy of spirit and sparkling vital¬ 
ity. Her smiles and pretty mannerisms were as 
natural as those of an impulsive child. Both 
girls were quick-witted; Helen was chummy 
and sympathetic; Dorothy, dignified and re¬ 
served. Helen could be a comrade—a pal. Dor¬ 
othy would always be the Perfect Lady. 

As Hammond bent over his drawing-board he 
heard a step outside and turning his head, he 
found Helen standing in the doorway. 

44 Hello,” she smiled mischievously. “Why 
the haunting expression of sad and meditative 
wistfulness V ’ 

“Oh, I was just thinking,” he replied. 

“That was obvious. She must have been a 
radiant, bewitching princess, from Never-Never- 
Land, from your expression.” 

“Was it that bad?” he laughed. “No; she 
wasn’t a princess. I thought her to be, at one 
time; but I found that she was merely a girl.” 

“Tell me about your Princess-who-was- 
merely-a-girl. She sounds interesting. Maybe 
she’ll turn out to be a princess after all, and 
you’ll live happy ever after.” 

“Not a chance in the world. A princess who 
turned out to be merely a girl is rather a difficult 
subject. I’m afraid I couldn’t do her justice 
today. Suppose you tell me about the Prince, 
instead. ’ ’ 

4 4 Oh, the Prince has always remained a 
prince. There have been several pretenders, 



BLIND BROTHERS 139 

however. I’m afraid I couldn’t do him justice 
today, either. 

“I have an idea! Suppose we have that for 
our wager about the Submarine. If you catch 
him I’ll tell about the Prince, and if I catch him 
you tell about the Princess.” 

‘‘That would be fair enough,” he returned 
with a grin. “Only, if you catch him you’ll 
have to tell about the Prince anyway.” 

“Why, pray?” 

“Well, you are my understudy as a fisher¬ 
man, aren’t you?” 

Helen laughed. “I’m afraid that would be 
what Flathead Joe calls ‘bad medicine,’ ” she 
told him. “Leave out that latter clause and 
we’ll call it a bet. Something tells me that I 
shall win. ’ ’ 

She held out some letters. “I came over to 
ask you if you would give these letters to any 
one passing, who happens to be going to town,” 
she explained. 

Hammond promised to see that her letters 
reached the postoffice, and the girl returned to 
the bungalow. 

Helen, like most people, was possessed of a 
considerable share of the inquisitive instinct. 
Hammond’s reticence in regard to himself and 
his past aroused her curiosity. The girl 
vaguely recalled seeing his picture somewhere. 
She thought that it must have been in some 
university annual, but was not sure. Her sister 
had said that he came from California. 

Before leaving Missoula, Helen had received 
a copy of the University of California year¬ 
book, from a friend attending that school. Pos¬ 
sibly she had seen his picture in the California 


140 


BLIND BKOTHERS 


annual. The morning previous to the above 
conversation, she had written the house-keeper 
of her sorority house, where she had left most 
of her belongings, for the book. 

Helen had no near relatives, except her sister 
and the aunt living in Portland. For the com¬ 
ing year she was to teach domestic science in 
Missoula High School. She had planned, of 
course, to continue to live at her sorority house 
while in Missoula. 

The following evening was the one scheduled 
for the community dance at which Helen and 
Oil were to sing. 

“It will be entirely informal,” Mrs. Lane 
had laughingly replied to the girPs query as to 
what she should wear. Helen chose a simple 
white dress, with a touch of blue at the collar 
and belt, and mischievous little white pumps, 
with white stockings. 

Hammond gave her a look of approval when 
he came over, and held out a large bunch of 
swamp violets. 

“The florist hasn’t invaded this section yet,” 
he told her, “but I noticed these down by the 
creek this evening and brought ’em along. 
Beauties, aren’t they?” 

“Thanks! They’re splendid!” She smiled 
as she pinned them to her belt. ‘ ‘ A florist would 
be superfluous where violets like these grow 
alone, don’t you think?” 

“Yes; an absurdity. Here comes Joe Davis 
and his Buick, our transportation agency,” he 
told her. “Elizabeth is again indisposed to¬ 
night. ’ ’ 

“What is he?” asked Helen as she looked at 
Joe and the big battered car, “a taxi man?” 


BLIND BROTHERS 


141 


“No; a deputy sheriff and public spirited 
citizen. Joe owns the only big car in the neigh¬ 
borhood; so he takes it upon himself to haul 
every one who hasn’t a way to go, to the com¬ 
munity dances and other social functions. He 
will probably make a dozen trips tonight, all of 
’em gratis. Joe considers it his privilege, Jim 
says, and would be highly insulted were any one 
to offer him pay.” 

Lane and his wife came out and they climbed 
into the battered old machine. 

“Gotta run up after the Mortons,” Davis 
said as he backed into the road. 

“Yes; and after the Hamptons, and the Lar¬ 
sons, and Tommy Knutson’s girl, and Coyote 
Bill Moore,” Gil told the girl. “We’ll be about 
twenty strong when we get to the school house— 
if this old boat will hold that many. ’ ’ 

They finally arrived, with the car packed to 
the fenders. 

“All out, ladies and gentlemen, for the Grand 
Beaver River Weekly Shindig!” called Davis. 
“Mr. Willie Minkler will show you around the 
conservatory while I make one more voyage 
in ‘The Golden West,’ and then we’ll let the 
festivities begin! ’ ’ 

“Festivities” was a good name for it. From 
the moment when the orchestra—consisting of 
a fiddle, accordion and piano—burst into the 
first rollicking one-step, the little schoolhouse 
was a veritable frolic. How those people 
danced—or tried to dance! 

As Helen and Gil swung into step she glanced 
over his shoulder at the other couples. Mothers 
were dancing with big sons, daughters with 
little brothers, big sisters with sweethearts, 


142 


BLIND BROTHERS 


fathers with their neighbors’ wives; and upon 
every face was an expression of honest good 
feeling and well-being. 

44 No one will attempt to keep a program,” 
Gil told the girl—the Lanes had taken him the 
previous Saturday night. “ Every one knows 
every one else,” he added, “and just asks her 
to dance. They will all know you, whether you 
have been introduced or not. You are 4 The 
Ranger’s Wife’s Sister,’ you see.” 

But Helen noted that Gil was careful to see 
that almost every one was properly introduced. 
He was perfectly at ease, she also observed; 
and omitted no courtesy that would have been 
proper on a ballroom floor; yet there was not 
the slightest hint of formality in his bearing. 

When young Bob Larsen claimed her for the 
next waltz, Helen saw Gil looking around for 
a partner. Mrs. Beraneck, a short, motherly 
little woman of fifty, was seated alone at the 
other side of the hall. Hammond skipped 
across the floor and swung her away to the 
strains of “My Wild Irish Rose.” Helen noted 
the broad grin on his bronzed features as he 
chatted to the little woman, whose radiant up¬ 
turned face came considerably below the level of 
his shoulders. 

At the end of the dance Joe Davis stepped to 
the center of the floor. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, as he 
mopped the perspiration from his forehead, 
“When the Lord made Adam and Eve back in 
the Garden of Eden he done a mighty good job; 
but I’ve never seen no record that shows as to 
how Adam had a coat on. So gents, I’m takin’ 


BLIND BROTHERS 


143 


mine off, to dance in comfort. The rest of you 
can do as you darn please!” 

A roar of applause and laughter greeted this 
oration, and most of the men began to peel 
their coats. Helen noted that Gil still wore his, 
when he came to ask her for the next dance. 

“Why don’t you take your coat off?” she 
suggested. “Fashion has sanctioned it, you 
know. ’ ’ 

“Thanks for the suggestion,” he smiled. 
“Believe I will.” 

Davis again climbed a chair and shouted, 
“Ladies and gentlemen! Choose your partners 
for a Virginia reel!” The orchestra struck up 
the time-worn melody, “Leather Breeches.” 

“Hey, there, you two!” Davis cried as he 
spied Hammond and the girl at the other end 
of the room. “No dances set out until after 
midnight. Get in line. We need your smiling 
faces.” 

And the two laughingly took their places at 
the end of the line. 

Every one danced this number ; it was one of 
the features of the evening. When the orchestra 
finally stopped from sheer exhaustion, Gil led 
Helen to a seat near the door. 

“Wow!” he grinned. “That was hot work. 
Let me get you some punch. Bill Finnigan 
hinted that it might have a kick in it. ’ 9 

He returned a few moments later with two 
glasses. “False alarm about the kick,” he 
told her. “Mrs. Gunter helped to make this 
punch. She’s a Methodist. It’s merely punch, 
without the punch; but it’s cold . 9 ’ 

Helen glanced across the hall to a group who 
were holding hi-jinx around the punch bowl. In 


144 BLIND BROTHERS 

the midst of the merry-makers were the ranger 
and his wife. 

44 Have you noticed how they all seem to be 
enjoying themselves tonight? ” she asked. 
44 Mabel hasn’t laughed so much for days, and 
Jim is gamboling about like a young colt.” 

4 4 Yes, every one is having the time of his 
life,” Gil said. 44 You see, these weekly dances 
are the only occasions that people up here have 
for getting together and just relaxing and hav¬ 
ing a good time. It isn’t like living in town, 
where you can see your friends and neighbors 
every day, and can drop in on them at a mo¬ 
ment ’s notice. Some of these people have come 
twenty miles tonight. There isn’t even a mo¬ 
tion picture house this side of Noxon. Folks 
aren’t surfeited with pleasures up here. That’s 
why they can play with such abandon.” 

44 It’s good to see them play,” said Helen. 

Mrs. Lane came over just then. 

44 We have decided to split up your act,” she 
told them, 4 4 and have you play for the next 
dance, if you don’t mind. The orchestra is sim¬ 
ply tired to death, after that Virginia reel. 
Would you mind playing a fox-trot?” 

They would not mind. Helen seated herself 
at the piano and Hammond took the chair va¬ 
cated by the accordion player. He selected a 
fox-trot which they had practised several times, 
and they began to play. Helen hammered the 
piano with a firm steady touch, with Gil twang¬ 
ing a melody on his banjo. He varied the chorus 
with a bewildering array of runs and jazz 
strokes. The dancers were delighted. Many 
of them ceased to dance, preferring to stand 
around the piano and watch the musicians. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


145 


When they had finished every one applauded 
wildly and called for an encore. Jazz, other 
than the phonograph variety, had not yet made 
its appearance on Beaver River. Hammond 
grinned at Helen as he turned the page back to 
the beginning, and they played the selection 
twice more. The dancers continued to clap 
their hands and call for encores. 

4 ‘Might as well give them another, don’t you 
think? ’’ Gil asked as he selected a waltz. Helen 
smiled an assent. When they came to the 
chorus Helen whistled the melody and Gil trem- 
oloed an obligato on his banjo. On the second 
chorus he played the melody and the girl 
hummed the second part. They had to play it 
over and over again. 

When they were finally allowed to stop, Mrs. 
Lane, seeing that the psychological moment had 
arrived, asked them to sing their duet. Helen 
played the introduction and they sang “Hono¬ 
lulu Eyes.” 

To any lover of simple melody and harmony 
their singing would have been pleasing. The 
people of Beaver River knew no other kind of 
music. Their audience was enraptured, and so 
expressed themselves. 

“Caruso and Galli-Curci never had a thing 
on us, tonight,” Gil told Helen, with another 
grin, as he opened the music for their third 
encore. 

Finally Joe Davis mounted a chair and 
pounded heavily on top of the piano. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I think 
that we all agree to and coincide with the state¬ 
ment that the music has been some entertainin’ 
an’ elegant. (Applause.) But, ladies and gen- 


146 


BLIND BROTHERS 


tlemen,” he went on, “seein’ as how these young 
people have been singin’ and playin’, amid 
violent intermissions, for the last three quar¬ 
ters of an hour, I’d like to suggest that we 
give ’em a chance to rest up a bit—hopin’ to 
hear some more of that same brand later in the 
evenin ’. ’ ’ 

Every one crowded around the piano, ex¬ 
pressing appreciation of the muisc. Their 
words of praise were so warm and sincere that 
Hammond found himself flushing to the roots 
of his hair. 

“It certainly made a hit with them,” he 
told Helen, after the regular orchestra had 
started a fox-trot. “I’m actually beginning to 
feel important,” he added with a smile. 

“Yes, I noticed that,” the girl replied, with 
a mischievous twinkle. “Why did you blush 
so?” 

Gil blushed again. “Did I?” he asked. 
“Blushing is one of my natural failings, I sup¬ 
pose. Anyway, these people are the best ever; 
don’t you think so?” 

“They certainly are. I don’t think that I 
ever enjoyed singing and playing so much as 
I did tonight.” 

“Same here,” he replied earnestly. 

It was already past midnight. After the next 
dance refreshments were served. These were 
followed by several “stunts” which the enter¬ 
tainment committee had provided. 

Joe Davis recited a monologue, which pro¬ 
duced roars of laughter; Mrs. Lane gave a comic 
reading, and Shorty 0 ’Neill did a clog dance, lib¬ 
erally accentuated with handsprings. After the 
others had finished there was a general clamor 


BLIND BROTHERS 147 

for Gil and Helen, who once more sang and 
played. 

During the refreshments Hammond had not¬ 
iced, Bill Meighan and his brother, Cliff 
together with several other late arrivals, stand¬ 
ing near the door. All through the entertain¬ 
ment the newcomers had been unnecessarily 
boistrous and noisy. Several of their loud re¬ 
marks had drawn scowling glances from Joe 
Davis and others who had heard them. The 
newcomers were evidently drinking rather 
heavily. 

Wihen the dance was once more resumed, 
Hammond, who had asked Mrs. Davis for this 
one, he and Helen having already played the 
after-supper dance, saw Bill Meighan cross the 
room rather unsteadily to where Helen stood 
talking with her partner for the dance, Joe 
Collingan, a boy about fifteen years of age. 

“I want this dance, sister,” Meighan said, 
with a leering smile. Helen turned and looked 
at him for a moment. 

“I have the dance, thank you,” she replied 
coldly. 

An expression of rage swept the smile from 
Meighan’s features. “Have it with our friend, 
Little Boy Blue here, who gurgles so sweetly, 
I reckon !” he asked insolently, indicating 
Hammond, who had excused himself from his 
partner and was approaching them. 

“That will do, Meighan,” Gil said quietly. 
“Miss Frasier has just said that she has this 
dance. That ought to be enough.” 

“It ought, hey! Well, where does mamma’s 
boy get in on this, anyway!” 

Meighan was just drunk enough to be dan- 


148 


BLIND BROTHERS 


gerous. His right hand slipped into the bosom 
of his flannel shirt—he was again in cowboy 
costume. With his left hand he reached over 
and slapped Hammond in the face. Gil’s right 
hand shot out and caught him on the point of 
the chin. As he fell Meighan jerked a pistol 
from a holster under his shirt and fired point- 
blank. The bullet whizzed past Hammond’s 
head and buried itself in the ceiling. 

In an instant the little schoolhouse was an up¬ 
roar of screaming women and shouting men. 
Before Meighan could fire a second time Joe 
Colligan kicked the pistol from his hand. Ham¬ 
mond, with a dozen others were on the fellow 
in a moment and were taking him toward the 
door. 

Joe Davis, who was a deputy sheriff, pushed 
his way through the throng. 4 4 Let me have him, 
fellows,” he said. 44 He’s due for another 
lock-up for this.” 

Meighan burst into a torrent of oaths and 
abuse. 

44 Shut up!” snapped Davis. He grasped the 
man by the arm and hustled him to the door. 

Cliff Meighan and one or two of his com¬ 
panions who had stood by the door, had started 
forward during the affair with their hands 
thrust in their pockets in a threatening manner. 
Now they crowded out, blocking the door so 
that Davis and his prisoner left the room be¬ 
fore any of the others were out. 

As the deputy pushed Bill Meighan out into 
the night Cliff Meighan’s fist shot out, and 
Davis sprawled backward in the doorway. Be¬ 
fore any one could stop them, the Meighans had 


BLIND BROTHERS 


149 


sprung on their horses and were clattering 
away up the the road. 

Davis cursed low and deeply as he brushed 
the dust from his clothes. ‘ 6 People/ ’ he said 
to the excited crowd outside the doorway, “one 
thing is certain; this River ain’t go in’ to be 
no fit place to live on until that bunch has been 
cleaned out. And believe me, they’re go in’ to 
be cleaned. Let’s go back to our dancin’. No 
tieed to let ’em say that they busted up our 
party. Tomorrow I’ll go after ’em, and if 
they’re there, I’ll get ’em.” 

When Meighan had pulled his gun and fired, 
Helen had screamed and covered her face. She 
now stood with her sister, whose arm was about 
the girl. Several of the other women were 
quite hysterical; one had fainted. The men 
still formed an excited hostile group around 
the door. Some were for taking a posse and 
going at once for the Meighans. 

Lane, who had been at the opposite side of 
the hall when the trouble began, walked to the 
center of the floor and pounded for silence with 
a broomstick. 

“Folks,” he said, “what Davis said outside 
the door a few minutes ago is the best thing we 
can do just now. That is, go ahead with the 
dance. What has happened has happened. It 
is over with. It w r ould do no good to send a 
posse after the Meighans, for the simple reason 
that no one would know" w T here to find them. 

“No one has been hurt; no one is the worse 
off, except Bill and Cliff Meighan. Both have 
made themselves liable to prison terms. Davis 
will either get them, or they will have to leave 
the country. 


150 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“As Joe said just now, let’s go ahead with 
our dance, and not give the Meighans the satis¬ 
faction of breaking up our party. ,, 

The orchestra followed his suggestion by be¬ 
ginning a one-step, and the ranger led his wife 
out on the floor. A few other couples joined 
them and the dance was resumed. 

“Shall we dance?” Hammond asked Helen. 
“It seems the only sensible thing to do, just 
now . 9 9 

The girl gave him a little smile of assent. 
Joe Davis and his wife also joined the others 
on the floor. The hall was soon filled with 
dancers, but the spirit of care-free revelry was 
gone. 

Although Gil was perfectly cool, as he had 
been the entire evening, his face showed signs 
of his encounter with the Meighans. His lips 
were tightly pressed, and there was a steely 
glint in his eyes. It had been the speed and 
promptness of Gil’s leap to one side, as 
Meighan drew his gun, which had kept the lat¬ 
ter from finding his target. 

“Let’s sit down,” Helen told him, at the be¬ 
ginning of the encore. “I’d like to talk, if you 
don’t mind.” Gil led her to a seat near the 
door. 

“There isn’t any way for me to tell you just 
how sorry I am that this thing happened to¬ 
night,” she said. “If you—or some one else 
had been killed, it would have been—terrible. 
I suppose I should have danced with him—” 

“That’s ridiculous, of course. And you’re 
not the least little bit to blame. The thing was 
bound to happen—if not then, it would have 
come later. It was something that started be- 


BLIND BROTHERS 


151 


fore you, or I, for that matter, came to the 
River. Let’s just forget it, and remember the 
pleasant part of the evening.’’ 

“And I suppose you aren’t going to let me 
thank you for what you did, Gil,” she replied 
earnestly. “I want you to know that I appre¬ 
ciate it, anyway.” 

“There isn’t any reason for thanks,” he re¬ 
turned, with a little flush of pleasure at her use 
of his first name. “I—I think that you were 
the best little sport in the world, tonight, 
Helen. ’ ’ 

“Why!” 

41 Oh, just mixing with folks the way you did. ’ ’ 

“Well—so were you!” the girl returned with 
a smile. 


XIII 


*s 


After Hammond had bade Mrs. Lane and 
Helen good-night, at the door of the bungalow, 
the ranger, who had been waiting for a few 
words alone with the young man, spoke quietly. 

“The outlook, so far as the Meighans are con¬ 
cerned, isn’t especially brilliant, Gil,” he said. 
“Tonight’s affair has made both the boys sub¬ 
ject to arrest, and I don’t think for a moment 
that they will be arrested. Instead, they wall 
hide out in the woods, up Lightning Creek and 
around Beaver Lake. Davis hasn’t a chance in 
the world of catching them, unless they come 
and give themselves up, or make a fight. They 
won’t do either. 

“You’ve got to be careful—we both have to 
be, for that matter. Don’t leave your shade 
up, with a light burning, after night; and don’t 
leave your doors unlocked. They may be use¬ 
less precautions, but knowing the Meighans as 
I do, I believe them to be necessary ones. Also, 
don’t leave the station without a gun. Cliff 
and Old Man Meighan have it in for you over 
our scrap down the road, and Bill will try to 
get even for tonight’s affair. What he did at 
the ferry shows that he wouldn’t stop at mur¬ 
der, if he had the chance to get away with it. 

“Another thing; the woods are pretty dry. 
That means fires. We’re going to have to 
watch our step.” 

“I think you’re right,” the young man re¬ 
plied. “Bill is the sneaking, bravado, desperado 

152 


BLIND BROTHERS 


153 


* 

type. I’m not afraid of him in the open, but I 
don’t mean to he caught napping if I can help 
it— 

“What’s that?” 

The snort of a horse came from the roadway. 
Both men turned and peered into the darkness. 
Suddenly, there came a flash, and the sharp 
crack of a rifle broke the stillness of the night. 
Gil heard a dull thud beside him, and turned 
just in time to catch the ranger, who stumbled 
back into the doorway. As he eased Lane to 
the floor Hammond heard the muffled staccato 
of a horse’s hoofs on the dusty road. 

The ranger sat up. “ It’s all right, ’ ’ he said, 
“just a scratch in the shoulder, I think. No 
need to alarm the girls.” Gil helped him to 
his feet as Helen and her sister came out. 

“What’s the matter, Jim? What was that 
shot, outside?” Mrs. Lane asked anxiously. 

“Nothing is the matter, my dear. Some one 
took a shot at Gil, just now. I got a little 
scratch in the shoulder; that’s all. Nothing to 
worry about in the least.” 

The two women stood for a moment, pale and 
transfixed with horror. Lane burst out laugh¬ 
ing. 

“Suffering Pete!” he grinned. “You two 
look like a couple of plaster tragediennes. I 
thought better of you, Mabel. And you too, 
Helen. Run to the bathroom, one of you, and 
get a strip of court-plaster. Gil will fix me up 
in a minute.” 

Helen ran to the kitchen for warm water and 
Mrs. Lane went to the bathroom for bandages 
and iodine. Gil helped the ranger remove his 
coat, baring his left shoulder. The wound was 


154 


BLIND BROTHERS 


a clean bullet bole, through the muscular part 
of the shoulder. Gil heaved a sigh of relief as 
he saw that it was not serious. 

“ Better go tell them that it is only a scratch, 
and let Mabel fix me up,” Lane told him. “Both 
of ’em are pretty much overwrought. Tonight’s 
excitement has been somewhat intense and pro¬ 
longed for persons of our simple pastoral 
habits,” he added. 

Gil took the pan of water from Helen and 
placed it on a chair beside the ranger; then he 
led the girl back to the dining-room. 

“ Is it very bad f ’ ’ she asked. The girl’s voice 
was calm, but Gil could not help noticing the 
heightened pallor of her features. 

“No; it’s not at all serious,” he told her. 
“Just a slight flesh wound. Jim will be as 
good as new in a week. It certainly is a pity to 
have your visit to the River spoiled this way,” 
he went on. 

“My visit doesn’t matter in the least,” she 
replied. “I’m not a mere infant, you know; 
although I’ll admit that I have acted like one 
tonight. But it was rather sudden and bewil¬ 
dering. If this sort of thing is going to con¬ 
tinue, I’m glad to be here with Mabel.” 

Lane and his wife appeared in the doorway. 
Save for his left arm in a sling, he did not 
seem to be any the worse for the incident. As 
a result of her husband’s chaffing, plus the as¬ 
surance that he was not seriously injured, Mrs. 
Lane was once more smiling, though rather 
wanly. 

“Let the festive board be cleared for an 
agreeable and timely session of communion, re¬ 
laxation, and refreshment,” Lane said, making 


BLIND BROTHERS 


155 


a sweeping gesture with his uninjured arm. 
‘‘ Mabel has just promised that we may 
strengthen our spirits, and incidentally break 
our fast on coffee and angel-food cake. What 
say you, Fair Mistress, yclept for Her of Troy? 
Would you condescend to such mundane pleas¬ 
ures of the merely mortal?” 

“Thrice noble and illustrious James Ulysses, 
your tidings are both pleasant and timely,’’ 
Helen returned. And the near-tragedy, while 
not forgotten, was for the time being, thrust 
into the background. 


Lane’s prediction in regard to the Meighans 
proved true. When Davis, with another deputy, 
called at the Meighan ranch early the next 
morning, Old Man Meighan met them with a 
surly greeting. 

“Hain’t seen either of the boys since yes¬ 
terday evenin ’, ’ ’ he replied in answer to Davis ’ 
query. “If you want to look for ’em, go to it. 
But you won’t find ’em.” 

His prediction proved correct. Nothing 
which might indicate the presence of either of 
the Meighan boys was to be found about the 
ranch. 

“Let me give you a tip that might save you 
some worry,” said the old man with a sneer. 
“Them boys have lit out for parts unknown. 
When they come back you’ll hear from ’em.” 

Davis laughed at the thinly veiled threat. 
“When they come back, you can tell ’em that 
I have a warrant for the two of ’em,” he re¬ 
torted. ‘ 4 An ’ you might add that I ain’t loosin ’ 
no chance to serve it.” 



156 


BLIND BROTHERS 


‘‘You sho’ are some hell of a little deputy 
sheriff! ’’ Meighan mocked, as the officers turned 
their horses and rode away down the valley. 

Davis did not believe for a moment that the 
Meighans had left the country, as their father 
had stated. That had merely been a pretense 
at a bluff. The two were probably hiding out 
somewhere, waiting for the thing to blow over, 
or waiting for a chance to settle their score with 
the ranger and Hammond. It would be useless 
to collect a posse and try to hunt them down, for 
Davis had, as yet, no definite idea of their 
whereabouts. While every one was normally 
certain that one of them had fired the shot which 
had wounded the ranger, still there was no ac¬ 
tual proof of the fact. The deputy concluded 
that the best thing for him to do was to keep 
his eyes open and bide his time. 

The ranger experienced no serious difficulty 
from his wound. Dr. Miller, who had been 
summoned from Noxon to re-bandage and dress 
the wound, stated that it was in no way serious. 
Hammond had no trouble in carrying on the 
routine office work alone. Fortunately, a heavy 
shower of a few hours’ duration settled the 
question of forest fires for several days to 
come. 

Helen’s copy of the California annual arrived 
on Monday, following the dance at the school- 
house. The girl found that her memory had 
not proved her false. Gil’s picture, together 
with the usual list of organizations, events and 
honors which he had participated in while at 
California, she found with the senior class 
group. 

So he had been a senior, and had not grad- 


BLIND BROTHERS 


157 


uated! She had left Missoula immediately af¬ 
ter the University of Montana Commencement. 
She had spent several days on the Coast before 
coming to the River. Her sister had said that 
Gil had been at the ranger station eight or ten 
days when she arrived. Why, he must have left 
California about the same time she left Mis¬ 
soula. That would have been little more than 
a week before the date for the Berkeley Com¬ 
mencement. Surely he couldn’t have missed 
Graduation Week for the sake of taking a job 
with the Forest Service! No; he had evidently 
left school—had not graduated. It could not 
have been that he was down in his studies, for 
he was listed as an honor student. The girl 
was mystified. 

She glanced through the book and found 
Gil’s name occurred rather frequently. And yet 
he had never spoken of his life at the University, 
or even hinted that he had attended that insti¬ 
tution. That wasn’t natural. A man talked of 
his university—was proud of it. Some could 
talk of nothing else. Why was Hammond so 
reticent? 

Helen did not believe that anything dishonor¬ 
able on Gil’s part had been the reason. He 
was frank about everything except his past, 
manly, as straightforward as Lane himself. 
Yet, at times the young man was just a little 
ironical, even cynical. Helen felt that this, 
together with his secretiveness, had something 
to do with the reason for his leaving California. 
• ••••••• 

Work on the derrick which was being built 
at the far side of the Knutson field progressed 
rapidly. Before the end of the week sheds had 



158 


BLIND BROTHERS 


been built and the derrick itself was beginning 
to lift its braced and bolted spire into the sky. 

Hammond’s surmise in regard to Harrison 
Christy proved correct. One morning a dusty 
car drew up in front of the station, and as Gil 
glanced up from his drawing, he saw Christy 
standing in the doorway. 

“Why, hello, Hammond!” said the engineer, 
advancing with outstretched hand. “Didn’t 
expect to see you up here in this neck of the 
woods.” 

Gil shook hands with Christy and offered 
him a chair. 

“How’s the oil business?” he inquired cas¬ 
ually. 

“Pretty good prospects. Nothing definite, 
of course, until a test well has been drilled. 
We are rushing the construction work through 
as fast as possible, so we can begin drilling. 

“By the way, I’m looking for Lane, the 
ranger up here, on a little matter of some 
leases. Do you know whether or not he is 
around?” 

Lane had ridden out that morning to visit 
the Squaw Peak lookout station, Hammond told 
Christy. The ranger would not be back before 
evening. 

“I’ll look in tomorrow, then,” said the en¬ 
gineer. “By the way,” he continued, “I’ve 
taken that big ramshackle barn of a house down 
by the creek, across from the Meadows place, 
and expect my wife up in a few days, for the 
summer. Glad to have you drop over some 
evening for a hand at the cards.” 

When the engineer had gone Hammond 
turned once more to his drawing-board, but 


BLIND BROTHERS 


159 


he did not take up the lettering pen which he 
had laid dowm when Christy entered. The en¬ 
gineer’s friendliness, and his invitation were 
a surprise to Gil. Was it possible that Christy 
had not heard of the California trouble? No; 
that couldn’t account for it. Christy was an 
intimate friend of the Powells. And the dean 
of men had made inquiries of him about the 
bet which Gil had made with the engineer. Of 
course, he knew all the details of the affair. 

Christy was a bluff straight-spoken fellow. 
Gil felt that his friendliness had not been as¬ 
sumed. The thought helped drive away the 
bitter reflections which the sight of the engineer 
had aroused. 

An hour later Jim-Jams came pattering in 
to tell him that dinner was ready; and Ham¬ 
mond followed the youngster across the road, 
to join Mrs. Lane and Helen in the midday 
meal. 

“I’m going to ride up to the lookout station 
on the Flatiron, tomorrow morning,” he told 
Helen. “There’s a pretty fair trail all the way 
up. Want to go ’long?” 

Helen would be delighted to go along, and 
so expressed herself. Next morning she ap¬ 
peared at breakfast, dressed in her hiking cos¬ 
tume, plus a pair of high laced boots, which 
she laughingly informed her sister, would elim¬ 
inate all future embarrassment in the way of 
stockings. Hammond packed the lunch which 
the girl had prepared, together with a supply 
of tobacco and other small necessities for But¬ 
ler, the lookout man, and placed them in his 
saddle bags. 

“Back this afternoon, if we don’t meet up 


160 


BLIND BROTHERS 


with a grizzly—or the Meighans,” he laugh¬ 
ingly told the ranger and his wife, who watched 
them ride away, across the valley. 

“A penny—yea, verily, two-bits for your 
thoughts, my dear,” grinned Lane, as they 
returned to the bungalow. 

“Do you think so, Jim?” asked his wife, with 
extreme irrelevance. 


The sun had just appeared over the eastern 
mountains, and his rays were lifting the gray 
fog stratum which had settled over night in the 
valley, as the two cantered easily down the 
sandy road and splashed into the broad shallow 
ford which crossed the creek. There was still 
a tingle in the air. Gil and Helen inhaled deep 
breaths, and thrilled with the joy of being alive. 

Out in the stream they stopped to allow the 
horses to drink. The water, crystal-clear, 
splashed and gurgled around the horses’ feet. 
Down amid the moss-fringed pebbles which cov¬ 
ered the bottom of the stream, Gil and Helen 
could see big, shadowy trout, flapping lazily in 
the current, or darting away like swift-sped 
shadows. 

Leaving the stream behind, the riders fol¬ 
lowed the road up a narrow canyon between the 
mountains which bordered the valley. They 
finally abandoned the road for a logging trail 
which doubled back around the mountainside 
and came out on the point of a ridge, overlook¬ 
ing the entire valley. 

Gil stopped and tied his horse to a pine; then 
he turned to the girl, who still sat motionless, 
too deeply impressed for words. 



BLIND BROTHERS 


161 


6 ‘Let’s go down to the edge of the cliffs,’’ he 
told her. ‘ ‘ It shows up better there. ’’ 

They descended from the trail a little way 
and came out on the point of a ridge overlook- 
away from the mountain in a sheer drop of 
hundreds of feet, to the bottom of the narrow 
canyon which they had ascended from the val¬ 
ley. To the left, and straight ahead, lay the 
entire Beaver River Valley, shut in by towering, 
jagged-topped mountain ranges—with its little 
river silver-threaded in the morning sun. Helen 
traced the course of the stream from the mouth, 
where it emptied into the Clark’s Fork of the 
Columbia, to its source, a long, forked, glitter¬ 
ing sheet of silver, shut in by pine-fringed 
mountains and weather-stained cliffs—Beaver 
Lake. 

“Isn’t it wonderful?” asked the girl. 

“It sure is. The right words for it haven’t 
been coined, I guess. Ever watch the sunrise 
from the top of the Continental Divide?” 

“No; tell me about it.” 

He paused a moment. 

“Well, you’re up there—above everyone, and 
everything, also—with the brand-new air about 
you, and a new blue sky above you—with the 
good old rock-ribbed earth below you, stretch¬ 
ing away in every direction in endless waves 
of mountains that fade into the sky like mighty 
waves of the sea, caught and frozen as they 
tower—with you on the tallest tip of the biggest 
wave. And down in the troughs between, like 
the spray that has fallen from the tips of the 
waves and has also been caught in mid-air, are 
the billowing foamy clouds that hide the bases 
of the mountains, and leave their tips—a jagged 



162 BLIND BROTHERS 

line of breaker-peaks, rolling back to the hori- 
z °n. 

‘ 6 The sun’s rim pushes itself into the sky 
and lights up the breaker-tips, the spray-clouds 
begin to drift away; and in a few moments the 
new blue sky becomes a gray-blue dome; and 
the big wave-mountains are just mountains, 
fringed with spruce and pine, and capped with 
jagged spires and painted fortresses of aged 
seamed granite. 

4 ‘It’s all so big and fresh and clean,” he 
went on. “It makes the biggest, most impor¬ 
tant person in the world appear so puny and 
insignificant by comparison. 

“When I get to feeling especially useless and 
unimportant, it takes something like this—” he 
waved his hand toward the valley—“to make 
me realize that people are pretty much on a par 
after all.” 

“Don’t you think that they are though?” 
asked the girl. “I mean that they are all just 
people—just folks? An old doctor once told me 
that he thought people were like marble. Some¬ 
times one finds it in huge moss-grown cliffs, 
stained by time and weather; sometimes it 
appears as little pebbles that are washed and 
rolled and jostled along in the stream of cir¬ 
cumstances; often it is seen in magnificent 
buildings, or in delicately modeled statues. But 
if one blasts the cliffs, or cracks the pebble, or 
breaks the statue the plain marble is revealed. 
I think that it is so with people. Whether we 
are cliffs, or pebbles, or statues; underneath is 
just the plain marble of human nature. It 
makes us so close akin, after all.” 

“Now and then the analogy doesn’t appear 


BLIND BROTHERS 


163 


to hold, however. Take people like the Meig- 
hans; how do they fit into your scheme of 
things ! ’’ 

“Don’t you think that their condition is due 
to a diseased mentality! The boys have been 
given a heritage of bitterness and suspicion. 
Their environment has intensified those traits. 
Instinctively, they look upon others with hatred 
and suspicion. Don’t you believe that these 
things, together with a mistaken conception of 
human relationships, are responsible for their 
attitude! ’ ’ 

“That might hold for the Meighans,” he re¬ 
plied. “But aren’t there some people who are 
fundamentally bad!” 

“No; I think that there are many who are 
weak by nature and impulsive. There are none 
of us entirely good, you know. People with 
equal mentalities develop along different lines, 
according to conditions. I like to look upon 
them all as just people, and lay the blame for 
their shortcomings on circumstances. Who can 
say what you and I might have been, had we 
been born in India—or on Beaver River, for 
that matter! 

“Mine may be a faulty philosophy, but it ex¬ 
plains things; and it does away with useless 
hatred and bitterness. That itself is worth 
something, don’t you think!” 

“You’re right,” he returned thoughtfully. 

“That is- I hope you’re right. I- I 

don’t know.” 

He picked up a bit of shale and sailed it out 
into the canyon. He was thinking of Powell. 
Was it possible that there might be some excuse 
for the fellow’s treachery, after all! Gil had 




164 


BLIND BROTHERS 


pondered the question many times before. The 
bitterness of the wrong which his roommate had 
done him still rankled. His friendship for 
Powell had been deep and sincere. While un¬ 
der no circumstance could the former status be 
resumed, GiPs own philosophy needed the as¬ 
surance that the fellow’s actions had not been 
base, premeditated treachery. 

As to the others, Gil thought that in a meas¬ 
ure he could grasp their point of view. To 
them the word, Fraternity, meant simply a 
name, old and honorable. That name must not 
be tarnished, even by one of their members. 
Like idol-worshipers, they had grown to rever¬ 
ence the symbol and forget the living truth for 
which it stood. They had been hasty and 
thoughtless. Their idol had been tarnished by 
one of their own members, they believed; and, 
with the eager frenzy of zealots, they tried to 
wipe out the stain, forgetful of the real mean¬ 
ing of that word, Fraternity. 

His sister—she too had always been a wor¬ 
shiper of false gods. Respectability, social 
position—they had been her idols. Was she so 
much to blame for her weakness and lack of un¬ 
derstanding? Maybe not. 

Helen watched the play of his expressions, 
as he stood sailing little bits of rock out into the 
canyon. 

“What is it, Gil?” she asked softly. * i Tell 
me about it.” 

He turned to the girl. Her face was alight 
with sympathy and understanding. 

“I can’t—just yet, Helen,” he told her 
quietly. “I think that you would understand 
though, little girl.” 


BLIND BROTHERS 


165 


He lield out his hand, and as the girl’s soft 
palm nestled warmly in his big one, she re¬ 
turned his slow whimsical smile with one of 
friendly camaraderie—although she had flushed 
to the roots of her hair. 


XIV 


Helen’s lessons in the art of fishing progress¬ 
ed quite rapidly. Under Gil’s coaching she 
soon learned to cast very creditably, and the 
ranger taught her many useful secrets about 
“gray hackles,” “coachmen,” salmon eggs and 
grasshoppers. The girl became very enthu¬ 
siastic over the sport. Her catches often 
equaled, sometimes bettered, those of Hammond 
or of the ranger. Hardly a day passed that 
Helen did not spend a few hours on the river, 
or up one of the small creeks which came down 
from the gulches between the mountains. 
Sometimes she was accompanied by Gil or Lane, 
more often by Jim-Jams. 

One evening Hammond and the girl were 
casting into a big eddy adjoining the meadow 
at the upper end of the Knutson place when 
two other fishermen appeared on the bank above 
them. Gil had waded waist deep into the pool. 
Helen stood at its lower edge, trailing her flies 
in the ripples. At a hail of ‘ ‘ What luck ? ’ ’ from 
the bank, he turned and saw Christy and his 
wife, dressed like Helen in hiking costume, 
scrambling down the bank to the edge of the 
pool. 

“Pretty fair,” he told them as he splashed 
to the shore. “We have seventeen or eighteen 
apiece, I believe. ’ ’ 

He shook hands with Mrs. Christy and intro¬ 
duced Helen. The engineer was eager to try 

his luck. After the civilities were over he and 

166 


BLIND BROTHERS 


167 


Gil waded the stream and began casting from 
the opposite side. 

Mrs. Christy was a tall, angular woman, about 
thirty years old. She was quite friendly and 
talkative. Soon the two had discovered mutual 
acquaintances in Portland, and were exchang¬ 
ing reminiscences. As Mrs. Christy did not 
care to fish, they kept to the bank and talked, 
while the men followed the stream down 
through the meadow. When Gil and Helen left 
them, down at the bridge at the Knutson place, 
Mrs. Christy invited the two young people to 
call the following evening. Christy warmly 
seconded her invitation. 

“Be sure to come,” he urged. “We haven’t 
had a caller since we came to the River. That 
old bam is like a morgue. If you people play 
mm, or whist, or five-hundred, or any other 
game you can mention—poker not barred—Bess 
and I are anxious to challenge you for the 
championship of the River.” 

Helen and Gil spent the following evening 
with the Christys, and a few days later the girl 
and Mrs. Lane called on Mrs. Christy. The en¬ 
gineer’s wife found life on the River more or 
less lonely, owing to the fact that her husband’s 
work kept him at the derrick most of the day. 
After the families had become acquainted she 
frequently drove to the station in her husband’s 
old runabout. A warm friendship developed be¬ 
tween Lane and Christy. 

Neither the engineer nor his wife had alluded 
to Hammond’s experience, or to his life in Cali¬ 
fornia. The young man was grateful for this. 
While he meant eventually to make a clean 
breast of the whole affair to the Lanes and 


168 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Helen, still he dreaded doing so. He was find¬ 
ing life on the River very pleasant. He hated 
anything that recalled his California experi¬ 
ences. Lane had refused to listen when Gil 
had started to tell him of the affair. And no 
subsequent opportunity had offered itself. 

The young man was sure that the details 
would make no difference to the ranger, or to 
his wife. To the girl, although he was anxious 
to prove her loyalty, he dreaded making his 
confession. Gil was conscious of his growing 
interest in Helen, and did not attempt to de¬ 
ceive himself as to its trend. This, more than 
anything else, was responsible for his silence. 
Although he was anxious for the girl’s respect 
and friendship, he did not want her sympathy 
or pity. He preferred to share his troubles 
with no one. 

f Mrs. Christy, however, was in no way reluc¬ 
tant to discuss Hammond’s affairs. On more 
than one occasion a quick glance from her hus¬ 
band had checked her during an overly-loqua- 
cious outburst. Although the good lady meant 
no harm, nor would she willingly have done 
anyone an injury, she belonged to that large 
class of women—and men— to whom anything 
in the way of a secret to be withheld is an ex¬ 
treme form of mental torture. Christy, on the 
other hand, attempted to live up to the theory 
that every man’s business is that particular 
man’s own business—and is to he regarded 
strictly as such. 

“I would leave Hammond’s past entirely out 
of all discussions, Bess,” he told her. “If he 
cares to mention it, well and good. Probably he 
does not. That too is his own affair, you know. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


169 


To my mind, he got a rotten deal down there. 
That’s as it may be. Let’s not add to what he 
already has to worry over by making unneces¬ 
sary remarks or inquiries.” 

Mrs. Christy made a solemn resolve to curb 
her curiosity, and likewise her tongue—but the 
mental torture did not abate. 


As the summer progressed and the forests 
became dry and parched, the fire situation be¬ 
came more serious. On three or four occasions 
Lane or Hammond was compelled to take out a 
crew of fire-fighters, composed of men from the 
neighboring ranches, in order to get the blazes 
under control. Now that the haying season was 
on, the collecting of such crews became more 
difficult. 

So far, although a few of the fires had been 
rather dangerous, they had not been more fre¬ 
quent than the average quota of lightning and 
accidental blazes. No two of the more serious 
ones had occurred simultaneously. 

Lane began to think that possibly Old Man 
Meighan had told the truth after all, and that 
the Meighan boys had left the country. No one 
appeared to have seen or heard of either of 
them. A seeming drought of moonshine liquor 
on the River went further to prove their ab¬ 
sence. Sam Wall, the Chinaman who ran the 
ferry, had also made one of his periodical dis¬ 
appearances, Lane told Hammond, after the 
former had returned from a trip to Noxon. 
Whether or not this might indicate anything, 
the ranger and Gil could only surmise. 

One evening, less hot and oppressive than 



170 BLIND BEOTHEES 

usual, Lane suggested that they all go for a 
ride. 

“How about a little jolt up to the Lake?” 
he asked. “Elizabeth has been on her good 
behavior lately. I think that we ought to show 
our unanimous appreciation for her benevolent 
condescension by trusting ourselves to her ten¬ 
der mercies.” 

“You undoubtedly missed your calling, Jim,” 
Helen told him, smiling at the “unanimous ap¬ 
preciation—benevolent condescension.” “You 
should have been an English professor, in a 
young ladies’ seminary. Your language is so 
simple and elegantly turned.” 

“Like your biscuits,” he retorted dryly. 
“They are so i simple and elegantly turned’ 
that you have to splice two of ’em together 
before you can spread butter on ’em.” 

“You had better bring a coat or something, 
Helen,” Mrs. Lane suggested. “It’s going to 
be chilly coming back. ’ ’ 

Helen ran to her room and opened the closet 
door to get her coat. From a hook in front 
of her hung Sandy Dinwiddie’s big maroon 
sweater, with its silver block M, and gold serv¬ 
ice stripes. The girl started to take it, hesi¬ 
tated for a moment, frowned and tossed her 
head at her hesitation, and snatching the 
sweater from its hook, ran back and joined the 
others in the car. 

Hammond had not seen the sweater before; 
but he recognized it as a man’s sweater, such 
as universities are accustomed to give to ath¬ 
letes. Its big block M indicated that. He also 
realized the significance of Helen’s having the 
sweater. It might be her brother’s of course; 


BLIND BROTHERS 


171 


but Helen had no brother. In fact, he knew 
that she had no near relatives, other than the 
Lanes and her aunt in Portland. 

According to accepted university tradition, 
her possession of the sweater meant one of two 
things; it meant that she was engaged, or at 
least “spoken for.” In the former case a fra¬ 
ternity pin might go with the sweater. But 
Helen wore no fraternity pin—not even her 
own, although Hammond knew that she be¬ 
longed to a sorority. 

He was conscious of a strong feeling of dis¬ 
appointment, even though he admitted to him¬ 
self that Helen had given him no just cause 
for such a feeling. Had he made his interest 
in her so evident that Helen had worn the 
sweater as a tactful hint that she was already 
engaged ? 

He had thought at times, had hoped, that the 
interest might be mutual. There had been mo¬ 
ments—up on the cliffs, and when they had 
played and sung together—when the girl had 
seemed—responsive. And their comradeship 
had been perfect. But Helen had not flirted 
with him; he was forced to admit that. By no 
word or deed had she even so much as hinted 
at the possibility of her ever being more to him 
than a comrade, a pal—“the best little pal in 
the world,’’ he had told her. 

Well, he had been dreaming dreams again, 
he told himself bitterly, as he thought of Doro¬ 
thy Paige. But Helen was not like Dorothy. 
She was the straightest “best little pal in the 
world,” even though she were engaged. Well, 
he could play the game too. If she were en¬ 
gaged—Gil was no poacher; but if she were not, 


172 


BLIND BROTHERS 


the owner of the sweater would not be alone 
in the running. 

One thing he resolved to do at the earliest 
opportunity. That was to tell Helen of his 
California trouble. Having once admitted to 
himself that he loved the girl—the sweater had 
forced him to a recognition of the fact—he 
knew that he could never tell her so without 
first making known the stain which was upon 
his name. 

Helen noticed his unnatural silence. 

4 ‘What is it, Gil?” she teased; “the Princess 
again ?” 

“No; I was thinking about a prince,” he re¬ 
plied easily, “—the Prince of the Sweater, who 
always remained a prince.” 

Helen considered. Should she tell him that 
there wasn’t a prince? No; he had refused to 
tell her his secret; she would make him wait. 

“Did I say that he had always remained a 
prince ? ’ ’ she laughed. 4 4 Perhaps he turned out 
to be a poet—or a peasant.” 

“And the poet-peasant was better than the 
prince? He would be more romantic, at least. 
Princes are getting to be common now-a-days, 
don’t you think?” 

“A real prince could never be common. It 
was only the pretenders who were common, if 
you remember the story. And your Princess, 
who was merely a girl—did she prove to be a 
peasant-poetess ? ’ ’ 

“No; she removed her mask, and I realized 
that I had only been to a costume ball,” h? 
grinned. 

“What a tragedy! And I suppose you made 



BLIND BROTHERS 


173 


her believe that she was a real princess!” she 
smiled at him impishly. 

“L T nfortunately, I had been urging her that 
it was better to be a peasant.” 

“And she agreed?” 

“She refused.” 

“Why?” 

“Because she believed herself to be a prin¬ 
cess. She couldn’t be the one, and wouldn’t be 
the other.” 

“That was a tragedy, wasn’t it? Then, I 
suppose, you deserted her.” 

“Oh no; she deserted me.” 

“And }mu were heartbroken, of course?” 
with twinkling eyes. 

“Not for long.” 

“Why, pray?” 

“Because she had removed the mask.” 

“I see,” she mused. “You wanted a real 
princess, who would consent to become a peas¬ 
ant,” another twinkle. 

4 4 1 wanted real love, Helen. That would have 
meant confidence—faith. She didn’t know the 
meaning of either of them.” 

44 Do you think the two always go together?” 
asked the girl. 

44 Don’t you?” he parried. 

4 4 Yes, I think that faith would have to go 
with love. It wouldn’t work the other way 
’round, though,” again the twinkle. “I used 
to have unlimited faith in my psychology pro¬ 
fessor; but I didn’t love him. He was mar¬ 
ried.” 

4 4 He was your friend, probably. Do you al¬ 
ways have faith in your friends, Helen?” he 
asked seriously. 


174 


BLIND BROTHERS 


4 ‘Yes; I realize that they are human, of 
course, and are apt to make mistakes. I think 
that I always have faith in them.” 

“I want to tell you something about myself,’’ 
he said earnestly. ‘ ‘ Will you promise to try to 
have faith in me, Helen?” 

The girl met his gaze frankly. “The telling 
won’t make any difference. It isn’t necessary, ’ ’ 
she told him quietly. 

‘ ‘ Why, Helen ? ’ ’ 

“Because—because I already have the faith, 
Gil.” 

“And why?” 

“Because you are my friend. I know you. 
And I know that you would not allow yourself 
to do anything—dishonorable, Gil.” 

“But suppose I had allowed myself to do 
something dishonorable — what about the 
faith?” 

“I should still have it.” 

“And why, again?” 

“Because I know that the good in you is suffi¬ 
cient to make you atone for the wrong—if you 
had done it, Gil.” 

“Thank God, I didn’t do it, Helen,” he said 
huskily. 

11 1 knew it, ’ ’ the girl replied simply. 

Hammond was deeply moved. He sat for a 
moment in silence. 

“Let me tell you about it, Helen,” he said at 
last. They had driven more than a mile up 
the lake shore. Neither had been conscious 
of their surroundings. 

“No,” the girl replied hastily. The car had 
already begun to slow down. “Why, we’re al- 


BLIND BROTHERS 


175 


ready at the lake! You can tell me any—any 
time you wish, Gil.” 

The ranger stopped the car and turned to the 
back seat. 

“Why the august solemnity?” he asked. 
“You two look as serious as the proverbial pair 
of boiled owls. One would think that you had 
been settling the fate of the Allied Nations.” 

6 ‘ The fate of nations is trivial, compared with 
the importance of our conversation, Jim,” 
Helen replied lightly. 

“I thought as much,” returned the ranger 
dryly. 

Mrs. Lane gazed down at the rumpled sleep¬ 
ing Jim-Jams and smiled. 

Helen, like Gil, had been deeply moved by 
the conversation. Now she felt strangely quiet 
and happy. Her woman’s intuition had just 
told her two things which she wished to know 
very much. She no longer asked herself the 
question, Is he the Prince? Something had 
told her, He is the Prince!—and he loves me! 
She gazed dreamily out across the lake, but its 
beauties could not replace the magic of the 
things which she had just learned. 

Gil had no woman’s intuition to tell him 
things, but he too felt a strange sense of the 
rightness of the world. His faith in Helen— 
faith that she would have faith in him—had 
been justified. He did not allow himself to 
ponder over such things as engagements and 
sweaters; this was more important, more vital. 
Here was real faith and understanding—the 
faith of Old Doc England and of the Lanes. 
This girl knew the real meaning of the word 
‘ 4 Fraternity. ’ ’ She was everything that he had 


176 BLIND BROTHERS 

thought Dorothy Paige to be—everything that 
Dorothy could never hope to be. The assurance 
gave him a renewed confidence in himself and m 
his philosophy of life. 

The ranger went down to the landing, and 
taking an old tin bucket, filled the steaming radi¬ 
ator of the Ford. Gil left the car also, and 
strolling down to the edge of the lake, lit his 
pipe. The ranger watched the young man with 
a sympathetic grin. 

As they drove up the lake shore, the two on 
the back seat did not resume their former con¬ 
versation. 

‘ ‘ This road leaves the lake a few miles up, 
and goes down to Alta Vista, on the Great 
Northern,” Gil told the girl. “The lake itself 
is midway between the N. P. and G. N. lines. 
It is something like thirty miles, and down 
grade, to either. The lake here is situated on 
top of the water-shed. All the country around 
here, except a homestead or two, is now in the 
National Forest Reserve. It’s still pretty much 
of a wilderness, as you can see. 

“Jim has a notion,” he continued, “that our 
good friends, the Meighan boys, are hiding out 
somewhere around here, making moonshine 
liquor. Those cliffs over there certainly would 
be an ideal place for it.” He pointed to the 
line of towering cliffs at the further side of the 
lake. 

The cliffs were massive and overhanging. A 
number of vertical cleavages in their face had 
divided the pile into a series of stall-like parti¬ 
tions. From the bottom of these cleavages, 
which began about a third of the way up the 
face of the cliffs, enormous slides of shale 


BLIND BROTHERS 


177 


descended to the water’s edge, giving the whole 
an effect of gigantic buttressed ramparts, with 
the lake itself for a moat. The afternoon sun 
was just tipping the crest of the mountains as 
the party drove around the edge of the lake, and 
the cliffs lay reflected in stately grandeur, from 
the motionless, cool, green depths. 

They left the main highway at the southern 
end of the lake and followed a logging road, 
little better than a trail, which kept to the shore 
line, around to the base of the cliffs. 

Suddenly the engine missed fire, sputtered 
feebly a few times, and stopped dead. Lane got 
out and lifted the hood. Gil joined him and to¬ 
gether they examined the engine. 

“Spark plugs, I imagine,’’ said the ranger. 
“Well, you didn’t catch us napping this time, 
Elizabeth. I have an even dozen new ones 
under the back seat. ’ ’ 

Helen sprang out and he lifted the rear 
cushion, in order to get at the plugs. When 
these were screwed in place Elizabeth still re¬ 
fused to budge. She had indeed caught them 
napping. 

Gil examined the engine carefully. 

‘ 4 Coils all 0. K, ’ ’ he said. 4 6 Spark plugs fine 
and dandy—wiring perfect—plenty of oil, 
plenty of gas—carburetor and timer working 
like the Gold Dust Twins—. Wait a minute! 
Let’s take a look at that timer, Jim. Open her 
up.” 

The ranger took off the timer and they ex¬ 
amined it. A small metal roller, scarcely an 
inch in diameter, proved to be the cause of the 
trouble. 

“Wouldn’t that bumfuzzle your grand- 


178 


BLIND BROTHERS 


mother ? ’ ’ said Lane disgustedly, as he fingered 
the brush. ‘ ‘ Cracked right in two in the middle. 
Elizabeth, verily thou art as fickle as thy royal 
namesake. Yea, in truth, thou hast hornswog- 
gled us. Moral: Put not your trust in queens 
—or flivvers! 

“Well, luckily there is a service telephone 
line from Squaw Peak that cuts across above 
the lake, down below the cliffs,” he told Gil. 
t ‘ There is a portable instrument here in the car. 
I’ll call up Flathead Joe, down at the station, 
and have him send up Davis to tow us in. 

“Won’t Davis howl though, when he hears 
we’re stuck!” 

“I’ll go call up, Jim,” Hammond offered. 
“You stay here with the ladies.” 

“Delighted, my friend, delighted,” returned 
the ranger. “It’s a little better than a mile and 
a half of rough walking around the face of those 
cliffs. You go with my blessing. ’ ’ 

“I think that I’ll go along too, Gil, if you 
don’t mind,” said the girl. “I’ve been wishing 
for a close-up view of those cliffs for the last 
half-hour.” 

‘ * It would appear that Elizabeth’s incapacity 
were truly providential, my dear,” the ranger 
remarked dryly. 6 ‘ Go, by all means—that is, of 
course, provided our modest young friend, Gil, 
doesn’t resent your unmaidenly intrusion,” he 
added, with a wink at Mrs. Lane. 

“No hard feelings at all,” Gil returned easily. 
“In fact, I was just waiting for Jim to give 
me an opportunity to suggest that you come 
along,” he told Helen with a smile. 

“The affair appears to have simmered down 


BLIND BROTHERS 


179 


to merely another case of woman’s proposing,” 
grinned the forester. 

“There’s an old boat hidden in the willows 
below T the cabin,” he informed Gil. “Here is 
the key. You can probably save yourselves a 
little rough going, and incidentally get a better 
perspective of the landscape by rowing back.” 
He tossed Gil the key. 

“Adios, brave deliverers! We’ll bide here, 
and attempt to keep Elizabeth from flitting 
away while you are gone.” 

Hammond slung the service telephone, in its 
leather case, over his shoulder and they fol¬ 
lowed the logging road to the edge of the cliffs. 
Here the road gave place to a rather uncertain 
path, leading around the base of the crags and 
over the shale slides. 

“These rocks are a regular echo-place,” he 
told her, as they stopped to admire the cliffs. 
11 One can stand on the other side of the lake and 
yodle—or yell, as the case may be—and the 
echoes come back across the water with an al¬ 
most weird distinctness.” 

“I love echoes,” replied the girl. “Do you 
yodle?” 

“Oh no; I merely yell. I was up here with 
Butler, one day, mending telephone line. He 
did the yodling. That’s how I came to find out 
about the echoes.” 

They finally left the bottom of the cliffs, 
where they turned back around the mountain 
side, and came out into an almost level glade 
in the yellow pine grove which covered the al¬ 
luvial fan, marking the point where Lightning 
Creek left the gulch and emptied into the lake. 
In the center of the glade, a few yards from 



180 


BLIND BE OTHERS 


the edge of the lake, stood the old, dilapidated 
cabin which Lane had mentioned. 

Gil searched the willows for a few" moments 
and found the boat which the ranger had told 
him about. It was a long battered bateau, the 
kind lumbermen use in timber drives. As he 
looked at the boat Hammond gave an exclama¬ 
tion of surprise. The willow to which the ba¬ 
teau had been chained and locked was cut away 
a few feet from the ground. The chain had been 
removed and lay in the bow of the boat, w r hich 
was tied to another willow" with a rope. 

Amidships lay a small, red-painted steel 
drum, such as one sees containing moderate 
quantities of acids or other chemicals around a 
laboratory. Gil climbed into the boat and ex¬ 
amined the drum. It was empty. Unscrewing 
the cap at one end, he found that it still smelled 
faintly of gasoline. 

Wading a few yards up the shore, to w^here 
the marsh grass came down to the water’s edge, 
he called softly to Helen. The girl parted the 
willows and started to cross the short strip of 
sandy beach where the boat was fastened. 

“Look out!'’ he warned, motioning her back. 

“Come around this way, Helen.What do 

you think of that?” he asked, pointing to the 
drum. 

“Why—somebody has been using the boat!” 
she exclaimed. “What use could they have had 
for a barrel up here, Gil?” she asked. 

“Yes, somebody’s been using it; and I im¬ 
agine that they are planning to use it again 
pretty soon, from the looks of things. That 
drum quite recently held several gallons of 
gasoline. Gasoline makes good fuel. I sur- 



BLIND BROTHERS 


181 


mise that the Meighan boys have planned that 
the drum will contain a few gallons of moon¬ 
shine liquor on the return trip. ’’ 

“You mean—you think that they have a 
moonshine still around here somewhere ?” asked 
the girl. 

“Yes; I’m practically certain of it. Let’s 
get out of this, Helen. I’m not especially anx¬ 
ious to meet up with any of them out here, 
just now. Are you?” 

Helen was not. They worked their way back 
through the grass to the glade, where Gil had 
left his telephone. He was careful that the 
girl should leave no footprints; and had left 
none himself; although his own probably would 
not have been noticed. 

“We’d better talk pretty low,” he told her, 
in subdued tones. “These confounded echoes 
around here are liable to do almost anything. 
I’ll call up Flathead Joe.” 

He guided her through the trees toward the 
mouth of the gulch. 

“Are you going to have him tell Mr. Davis 
about the boat?” the girl asked in a tense whis¬ 
per. 

“No; not now, at least. I belong to the For¬ 
est Service, not the Internal Revenue. Of 
course, we owe the Meighans one for their little 
tricks. But I don’t like the job of informer. 
I’ll tell Jim, when we get back to the car. He 
can do what he thinks best. 

“We’ve actually seen no one, yet, you know,” 
he continued. “The Meighans would have to be 
caught red-handed—with the goods. And I’d 
rather nothing would happen while you and 
Mrs. Lane are up here. You might be called 


182 


BLIND BROTHERS 


upon as witnesses. That, of course, would be a 
nuisance.’’ 

Twilight had already set in when they reached 
the telephone line which came down the Light¬ 
ning Creek gulch. The wires were fastened to 
the trees. Gil climbed a pine, attached his in¬ 
strument and called the ranger station. Flat- 
head Joe answered and after a few minutes 
informed Gil that Joe Davis would come to their 
assistance as soon as possible. 

Owing to the fact that the Squaw Peak line 
was not connected with the regular telephone 
system, Hammond could not talk directly to the 
deputy. 

“Davis will be up as soon as possible,” he 
told the girl. “We’d better be getting back to 
the folks. We’ll have to hike it, of course. If 
we took the boat the Meighans would know that 
somebody was on to their little tricks. We’re 
going to have to make it snappy or it will be 
good and dark before we get around the cliffs. ’ ’ 

They hurried through the woods, keeping 
within the shelter of the trees, in case anyone 
should have happened to come down to the 
landing while Gil was telephoning. As they ap¬ 
proached the cliffs, the sound of voices came 
distinctly from the rocks above them. 

Helen, tense with excitement, clasped Gil’s 
arm and stopped. 

“Our friends appear to be at home this eve¬ 
ning,” he whispered. “Let’s see if we can 
catch the trend of their conversation.” 

They drew back behind a bunchy fir tree and 
waited. 


XV 


u Jar loose there, Bill, and lend a hand with 
these cans/’ came from the rocks to the two in 
the woods below the cliffs. The voice was un¬ 
familiar to Gil. 

“Aw, don’t get previous,” came the sarcastic 
retort, in the unmistakable tones of Bill 
Meighan. “What’s your hurry? You ain’t 
agoin’ to bring your damned old truck up till 
midnight, anyway. Take it easy. That booze 
will keep.” 

“Might as well get it down to the boat while 
it’s light enough to see. We’re not usin’ no 
lanterns up here. Come on; give us a lift on 
these cans.” This last from a third speaker— 
Cliff Meighan, Gil thought. The two in the 
woods did not catch the grumbling retort. Bill 
had evidently decided to “jar loose,” as the 
voices were coming closer. 

“WTien do we get our coin outa this thing, 
Buzz?” came the question, in Bill’s disagree¬ 
able tones. “I’m wantin’ to see the jack right 
sudden. ’ ’ 

“You know the agreement,” the man named 
Buzz retorted sharply. “Five bones per — de¬ 
livered in Sand Point. You get two-fifty; I 
get two-fifty; an’ I’m takin’ the long chances. 
WTien I turn the stuff over to the Chink I get 
the coin. Then it’s up to him. You’ll get yours 
tomorrow night. If that ain’t satisfactory get 
somebody else to do your freightin’.” 

The moonshiners were coming through the 

183 


184 


BLIND BROTHERS 


trees, about a hundred yards to the right of 
where Gil and Helen stood. Each of the three 
men carried a bucket or can. The men were 
plainly visible to the two behind the fir tree. 
Evidently the buckets were all filled, as Bill’s 
next remark indicated. 

“Quit your splashin’!” he snapped. “What 
do you think this is—a swimmin’ party?” 

“Aw, go soak your head in the lake—an’ kid 
the squawfish. What’s a eatin’ on you any¬ 
how, Bill?” drawled his brother goodnaturedly. 
“Don’t mind the old porcupine, Buzz. This 
deal’s satisfactory. Bill’s failin’ in love, I 
think. Haw-haw!—haw! ’ ’ 

Gil turned to Helen with a broad smile. The 
idea of Bill’s being in love amused him im¬ 
mensely. 

“Let’s beat it,” he told her. “We can get 
around the cliffs while they are down at the 
landing. They will be hidden by that clump 
of willows.” 

They hurried through the woods to the cliffs 
and followed the path around the edge of the 
lake. Over the water snatches of the conver¬ 
sation still came to them. Bill was venting his 
grouch on the other two. 

“I hope Jim doesn’t show a light till we get 
there,” Hammond said. “They’ll see Davis, 
when he comes up the road, of course. But 
when he tows Elizabeth back, that ought to ex¬ 
plain the trip. 

“Well, how’s that for a real slice of spicy 
melodrama, partner ? ” he asked her. 

“It certainly was realistic—far more so than 
the movies,” replied the girl. “Gil, will you 
do me a favor?” she queried. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


185 


“Why—yes, of course. What is it, Helen?” 

“I—I wish that you wouldn’t tell Jim or Mr. 
Davis what we saw. Not tonight—that is—un¬ 
less you think that you ought to, of course.” 

He was silent for a moment. 

“I can’t see that it would make any real 
difference—not telling them tonight. Davis 
would probably make a raid on them if Jim 
saw fit to tell him. But not till we’d taken you 
and Mrs. Lane home, of course. A day or so 
couldn’t affect matters one way or the other. 
So far as the moral obligation goes, I’m not 
hound to tell it at all.” 

4 ‘ Then why tell it? If Mr. Davis should make 
a raid tonight, someone would probably be 
killed. It might be he, or Jim—or you. Isn’t 
there some way of arranging it without the 
gun-play? Neither you nor Jim are hot¬ 
headed, but if Jim were to tell Mr. Davis he 
would deputize you both without a moment’s 
hesitation; and you would go up there with 
your guns and meet those men, feeling certain 
that you were perfectly justified in doing so— 
and someone would be killed.” 

“Not necessarily.” 

“That’s just it—not necessarily,” the girl 
urged. ‘ 1 Oh, I know that you ’re not afraid— ’ ’ 

“I didn’t say so,” he replied. 

“No; but you thought so. It isn’t a question 
of fear. It’s the calm and serene manner that 
men have of disregarding human life when 
carrying out the mandates of this thing they 
call the Law.” 

“Such things are men’s work, Helen. They 
must be done some way. The criminals can’t 
be left at large, you know, ’ ’ he told her quietly. 


186 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“Yes, they are men’s work; and men go at 
them in their confident, thoughtless, manly way. 
Isn’t there some other way? The Meighan boys 
are human beings, not beasts. Couldn’t they be 
appealed to as such?” 

“It has often been tried, but has never proved 
very successful. Anyhow, I’ll keep it to myself 
for tonight. There is something in what you 
say, Helen. I hadn’t thought of it before—from 
the criminal’s point of view.” 

“And you’ll let me know when you decide 
to tell Jim?” 

“Yes; I think I’d better let him know to¬ 
morrow. Don’t you?” 

“Perhaps. Thank you for not telling tonight, 
Gil.” 

“It’s all right,” he replied, as they came in 
sight of the car. 

The ranger advanced to meet them. “What 
luck?” he queried. “Did you get Davis?” 

“Yes, he’s on his way up here now—ought 
to be here any minute,” Gil informed him. 

“What about the boat? Didn’t you find it?” 
Lane asked. 

“We decided to walk back,” Helen replied. 

A pair of headlights appeared far up the 
lake, and the sound of Davis’ car echoed from 
the cliffs and broke the stillness of the night. 
The lights swept around the north end of the 
body of water and Davis, stopping his car, gave 
a goodnatured hallo. 

“What’s this? What’s this?” he called. 
“Figgerin’ on homesteadin’ permanent up here, 
Jim—or just out enjoyin’ the beauties of na¬ 
ture ? ’ ’ 

“No; merely looking for the ghost of the 


BLIND BROTHERS 


187 


Great Ancestral Beaver—the one they named 
the lake after. But the beauties of nature are 
so striking hereabouts that Elizabeth seems to 
have struck also, out of sheer sympathy.’’ 

“Aw, why don’t you use that old rattle-trap 
for a coffee grinder an’ get a real car , Jim? 
You act like a man of intelligence and dis-cree- 
tion in other respects.” 

“Like your car, I suppose? I hear you’ve 
been taking out quite a little insurance lately, 
Joe. Didn’t get anyone to write you a six-bit 
policy on that old bus, did you?” queried the 
ranger innocently. 

“Jim Lane, I’ve a mind to arrest you, right 
here and now. You’re an ornery, malicious an’ 
premeditatin’ disturber of the peace; an’ you 
jest naturally deserve to be pinched for it,” 
Davis accused wrathfullv. 

“What’s wrong this time, Joe?” drawled 
Lane. 4 ‘ Gophers been getting too intimate with 
your garden? They don’t come under the For¬ 
est Service jurisdiction—and you’re a game 
warden, too, you know. ’ ’ 

“Gophers—nothin’!” retorted Davis, as he 
fastened a chain to the front axle of Elizabeth. 
“It ain’t gophers; it’s insurance agents! 
There’s been six of them loose-tongued pests 
down there in the last two weeks. Every one 
of ’em talked a leg offen me—told me that you 
sent ’em down, and guaranteed ’em a policy! 
Didn’t you know well an’ good that I wasn’t 
figgerin’ on takin’ out no more insurance? 

“I’ve got a mind to leave yore doggoned old 
pile of tin cans and balin’ wire up here in the 
woods. ’ ’ 


188 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Lane disregarded this last bitter insult to 
Elizabeth. 

4 ‘ Didn ’t you know that you were a centipede, 
Joe? Still, in case you do lose a dozen or so 
more of your legs, an accident policy might come 
in handy, ’’ he drawled maliciously. 

Davis sniffed disgustedly. “Yore idea of a 
joke is sure some mournful and heart-sick- 
6^^,” he grunted, by w^ay of ending the dis¬ 
cussion. 


As Hammond sat in his room that night, 
after their return to the station, he pondered 
over what the girl had said about the Meighans. 
She had told him that they were human beings. 
Had he and the ranger been considering them as 
such? Gil flushed as he realized that he had 
been doing the very thing he had hated his for¬ 
mer fraternity brothers for doing—accepting 
a man as being wholly bad merely upon out¬ 
ward evidence. How did he know that there 
was not some good in one of them, say Cliff, 
at least? 

The details of the two situations were not 
similar, but the same principle governed both. 
In his case he had been condemned for a thing 
that he did not do, and had been made an out¬ 
cast by his friends and fellows. He had hated 
those friends and fellows for their lack of 
faith—because they had not lived up to his 
ideals of fellowship. They had not given him 
a chance. 

The Meighans, too, had been condemned and 
made outcasts. Their condemnation had been 
just, but were they to be hunted down like wild 


BLIND BROTHERS 


189 


beasts because they had actually violated the 
legal code? Was there no tie which still bound 
them to their fellow men? Was he justified 
in forgetting the tie because the Meighans had 
done so? 

True, they had “gone wrong/’ were a menace 
to Society; but Society, he included, had more 
or less placidly accepted them as a menace, and 
by doing so, had encouraged them to continue 
as such. Had anyone tried to keep them from 
being a menace ? Had the Meighans been given 
their chance to “come back”? 

This thing, Fraternity, which he had pon¬ 
dered so much about—was it such a dwarfed 
principle that it only applied to a selected 
group ? The Brotherhood of Mankind! He had 
read of it; had considered it as a vague abstrac¬ 
tion. If it were a reality, didn’t it include every 
human being—even the Meighans? 

Gil found it difficult to reconcile his old at¬ 
titude with this new conception. He had often 
seen criminals, had pitied them; but, like too 
many other people, he had considered them as 
a class, to be dealt with in a manner different 
from that used toward other people. He had 
not given very serious thought to the statement 
made by Helen, on their trip up the Flatiron, 
that all men are influenced by heredity, environ¬ 
ment—especially home environment—and by 
the opinions of their fellows. Now he recalled 
the conversation, and saw its application. 

Helen had the true conception—-what a girl 
she was! Not another like her in the world, 
he told himself. Such a perfect little pal—and 
such a woman! Then he thought of the sweater 
which she had carried the night before, but had 


190 


BLIND BROTHERS 


not worn. With the thought came a momentary 
twinge of bitterness. Was the owner of the 
sweater worthy of her he wondered? No; no 
man, however perfect, could be worthy of her 
—the girl who had enough sympathy and friend¬ 
ship for the whole world—even for him and the 
Meighans! 

What ought he to do about them ? Of course 
he would have to tell the ranger about his and 
Helen’s discovery. His loyalty to Lane de¬ 
manded that; but was there no way in which 
the affair might be settled without arrests, 
damning prison terms, or perhaps deaths ? Now 
was the time for him to tell. It was the mo¬ 
ment for definite, decisive action—not for pon¬ 
dering abstractions and philosophies! 

Was his love for the girl weakening his moral 
stamina, he wondered for a moment? A week 
ago he would have laughed at the suggestion 
that the Meighans were not getting fair play. 
As he mulled the situation over in his mind, 
Gil decided that this new conception, the one 
which Helen had given him, was the correct 
one. Tomorrow he would tell Lane and they 
would at least try to formulate a plan for deal¬ 
ing with the Meighans. 

After breakfast next morning Helen walked 
with Gil to the gate. 4 ‘You haven’t told Jim 
yet?” she asked him quietly, as they left the 
bungalow. 

“No. You know you made me promise not to 
without first telling you,” he reminded her. “I 
was planning to do so this morning.” 

“Let me tell him, Gil.” 

‘ ‘ Why, certainly, if you wish, Helen. ’ ’ 


BLIND BROTHERS 


191 


i ‘ I ’ll do it this afternoon,’ ’ she promised. i i I 
want yon to he present when I do, of course.” 

“Anything you say goes with me,” he re¬ 
plied. “I’ve been thinking over what you said 
last night, Helen, and I agree with you that 
possibly we haven’t been looking at this thing 
in just the right manner. I want us three to get 
together and see if we can’t plan a sensible 
way out of it. ’ ’ 

“I’m sure we can,” the girl told him con¬ 
fidently. 

Half an hour later Gil saw Helen mount her 
pony and ride away up the valley. He thought 
little of the incident at the time, as Helen fre¬ 
quently rode over to one of the neighboring 
ranch houses for a morning visit. The girl 
had made friends with everyone, and these little 
calls were very pleasant to her, as well as to 
the families of the ranchers. Lane had gone 
over to the derrick to see Christy. Gil was 
alone at the station. 

As he sat at his desk making out the monthly 
reports to District Headquarters, Hammond 
could not keep his mind off Helen. Suddenly 
he arose and tossed the unfinished reports into 
a basket. Could it be possible that the girl had 
gone to visit the Meighans’ camp? The more 
he thought of it the more certain he became 
that this was just what she had done! 

Snatching his revolver from the table drawer, 
he hurried to the barn where he found Flat- 
head Joe, just finishing the morning chores. 

“Go down to the office and watch the tele¬ 
phone for fire calls until I get back,” he told the 
Indian. “I have to ride up the river,” he ex¬ 
plained, as he hastily saddled his pony. “Lane 


192 


BLIND BROTHERS 


is down at the derrick. Let him know at once 
if anyone sends in an alarm before I get back. ’’ 

As soon as he was out of sight of the bunga¬ 
low, Gil urged his pony to a gallop. Helen 
would ride around the lake, the way they had 
gone the night before, he reasoned. By cutting 
across through the woods south of the lake he 
would have time to meet the girl at the cliffs. 

Gil did not doubt for a moment that he would 
meet her—unless Helen got there first. She 
had planned to go when she talked with him that 
morning. He left the road at the south end of 
the lake and turned into the woods. His pony 
was wet with sweat and lather. Gil was com¬ 
pelled to slacken his pace and pick his way 
through the undergrowth. Tying his pony to 
a tree, a quarter of a mile above the cabin, 
he hurried toward the cliffs on foot. 

Fear for Helen, and admiration for her 
plucky determination, filled his thoughts. His 
change of attitude toward the Meighans had 
been well enough, but Helen alone with them 
was a different matter. The thought was mad¬ 
dening. 

He came to the little glade above the landing 
in the willows, and stopped to scan the cliffs 
and listen. No one was visible and no sound 
came from the rocks above. Reassured by the 
silence, he followed the path around the base of 
the gray and red-painted cliffs. As he reached 
the first shale slide, he saw Helen hurrying 
toward him. 

4 4 Gil!—” she exclaimed. The girl was flushed 
from excitement and surprise at seeing him. 

44 Helen,’’ he told her quietly, 44 you can’t do 
this. It’s absolutely impossible.” 


BLIND BROTHERS 


193 


“Why impossible!” the girl asked. Neither 
of them mentioned the thing that she proposed 
doing—to attempt a truce with the Meighans. 
Each instinctively read the other’s thoughts. 

Gil did not answer her question. “You stay 
here, Helen,” he bade. “I’ll go up and see 
if things can be arranged.” 

“Not for a minute,” the girl replied firmly. 
“Let me talk to them, Gil. You will be right 
here, in case anything should happen,” she 
urged. 

“Nothing doing,” he replied. “We’ll make 
it a duet.” Both realized the futility of argu¬ 
ment. 

“Very well,” she agreed, “but let me talk 
to them, please, Gil.” 

They climbed the rocks toward the point 
where they had first heard the moonshiners’ 
conversation. The cliffs broke away from the 
mountainside in a series of sharp crags and 
overhanging ledges. Around the base of the 
mass lay a confusion of boulders and slabs of 
metamorphic rock. Presently the two came 
upon a faint suggestion of a trail, leading back 
over these. The trail carried them to the very 
base of the cliffs which were, at this point, hol¬ 
lowed out and overhanging. 

Gil and Helen moved cautiously, searching 
every ledge and break in the face of the rocks 
for signs of the Meighans. Presently they came 
to one of the stall-like recesses in the wall of 
rock. The bottom of the opening was twelve 
or fifteen feet above the base of the cliffs them¬ 
selves. It was free from shale, but might easily 
be climbed by a man on foot. The opening did 
not show from the lake; in fact, it was not visible 


194 


BLIND BROTHERS 


from anywhere in the immediate vicinity, except 
from the mountain which formed the opposite 
side of the Lightning Creek gulch. At that dis¬ 
tance the opening would appear as a mere 
shadow in the seamed and weather-stained wall 
of rock. Both sides of the opening were tilted 
together at the top, almost entirely excluding 
the sunlight. The place was an ideal retreat. 

Gil climbed to the top of the huge boulder 
in order to see into the opening. Helen did like¬ 
wise. On a blanket, thrown over a heap of fir 
boughs, they saw the figure of a man, evidently 
asleep. No one else was visible. 

Helen drew a deep breath and placed her 
hand on Gil’s arm. 4 ‘ He’s asleep,” she whis¬ 
pered. 

“Yes; I’ll let him know that he has visitors,” 
returned Hammond. 

“Hello, up there!” he called distinctly. 

The man mumbled something and rolled over. 
At the sight of the two on the rock below, he 
sat up quickly. 

“Good morning!” the girl called pleasantly. 


XVI 


The man in the opening, now thoroughly 
awake, sprang to his feet and advanced to the 
edge of the shelf, pistol in hand. 

“What’s the big idea?” he demanded bellig¬ 
erently. 

“Come on down, Meighan, and let’s talk this 
thing over,” Gil offered. He saw that the fel¬ 
low was Cliff Meighan. 

“I reckon I can do my talkin’ from right 
here,” retorted the other. “The thing for you 
to be doin’ is to hit the trail outa here, and that 
right sudden. Brought a girl along to help you, 
I see. Well, stick up them paws o’ yourn, an’ 
make it snappy! ’ ’ 

Gil paid no attention to the order. Instead, 
he drew his revolver from his pocket and handed 
the weapon to Helen. 

“No, Mr. Meighan,” the girl said quickly, 
“Mr. Hammond did not bring a girl along to 
help him. I started to come alone, and he sus¬ 
pected what I was going to do and followed me. 
We came to see if this thing couldn’t be straight¬ 
ened out in a sensible manner. We have told 
no one that we know you are here, and no one 
knows of our coming. We are anxious to settle 
this trouble in a manner fair and satisfactory 
to everyone concerned. Won’t you put up your 
gun, Mr. Meighan, and meet us half way?” 

Meighan looked incredulous. The girl’s state¬ 
ment appeared to be perfectly honest and sin¬ 
cere, but it was like nothing he had ever heard 

195 


196 BLIND BROTHERS 

before. There was a trick somewhere, he told 
himself. 

‘ 4 We’re not askin’ for any settlement,’’ he re¬ 
torted. “An* we’re not expectin’ any square 
deal—not from that bunch down there. If 
there’s some trick to this, you’ll get yours 
mighty sudden. ’ ’ He glared menacingly at 
Hammond, whom he still had covered with his 
revolver. Gil filled his pipe and lighted it. 

“There isn’t any trick,” he said. “If there 
were, do you think that Miss Frasier would 
have started up here alone? If we had cared 
to do it, we could have told Davis that you were 
here; and he could have surrounded you with 
a posse, or have taken you while you were 
asleep. We could have had your truck raided 
last night, if we had wanted to do it. All that 
we are asking now is that you listen to what 
we have to say, and agree or disagree to it, as 
you see fit.” 

“I don’t give a —. I’m not wantin’ to hear 
what you have to say.” 

“Listen to Miss Frasier, then.” 

Meighan looked inquiringly at the girl. “If 
you’re so all-fired friendly and anxious to settle 
this thing, Miss,” he demanded, “suppose you 
tell me how you come to find out about this place 
and that truck last night. ’ ’ 

“The whole thing was accidental,” Helen re¬ 
plied. “We were out for a ride yesterday eve¬ 
ning, and our car broke down up at the other end 
of the lake. Mr. Hammond and I came up here 
to telephone, and saw you men loading the boat. 
We have told no one of our discovery.” 

“Telephone?” jeered Meighan. “How do 


BLIND BROTHERS 


197 


you get that way? There isn’t a telephone this 
side of Squaw Peak.” 

“We had a field telephone in the car,” Ham¬ 
mond explained. “I connected it onto the 
Squaw Peak line and called up the ranger sta¬ 
tion. ’ ’ 

Meighan considered for a few moments. 
Then he lowered his pistol and replaced it in 
his pocket. 

“Well, what’s the big idea?” he asked. “I 
don’t quite savvy it. Want me to turn state’s 
evidence?” he demanded. 

“We don’t want you to turn state’s evi¬ 
dence, ’ ’ she told him. ‘ 1 All we want is that this 
feud which has been going on between you men 
to come to an end, and that you stop this illicit 
distilling. We are not going to ask you for 
any promises, or put you under any obligations 
that you will not resume it somewhere else. 
That is your own affair. 

“Are we asking too much?” she finished. 

“So you and Lane want to bribe us to keep 
the peace,” the man sneered at Hammond. 

“We are trying to bribe you to do nothing,” 
Gil flushed as he replied. “Miss Frasier has 
offered you a man’s chance to act like a man. 
Lane knows nothing about the affair. If you 
don’t want the chance, say so, and we’ll return 
to the ranger station.” 

Helen laid her hand on the young man’s arm. 
“Please, Gil—” she begged. “You don’t mean 
that, ’ ’ she told Meighan quietly. ‘ 4 If Mr. Ham¬ 
mond were a coward, would he have come up 
here as he has done? Did my brother-in-law 
ever give you reason to think that he is that kind 


198 


BLIND BROTHERS 


of man? I don’t believe that you’re a coward, 
Mr. Meighan.” 

The man flushed under her steady gaze. “I 
was a little hasty there, I reckon, ’ ’ he admitted. 
“I’m makin’ no promises, but just what will 
you do if we agree to call off the scrap an ’ ditch 
the still?” 

“Mr. Hammond and I will keep silent about 
what we have learned,” said Helen, “and if 
you care to come down to the station and talk 
it over with my brother-in-law, I’m sure that 
he will use his influence to have the charges 
which are already against you withdrawn. 
Understand, please, that we are not going to 
ask you to make any promises which you are 
not perfectly willing to make. 

i ‘ But we do believe that if you men are given 
a chance, and care to take that chance, that 
there is no reason why you can’t be as good 
citizens as any other men in the community. 
Because we don’t believe that all of you have 
been given that chance, Mr. Hammond and I 
came up here this morning. We want you to 
take it, because you are worth infinitely more 
to the community as good citizens than as out¬ 
laws. Don’t you agree with me?” 

The girl spoke quietly, but her face was radi¬ 
ant with earnestness and sympathy. The man 
was silent. It was all more or less beyond his 
comprehension. 

“Meighan,” Gil said, “you and I had a fight 
down the river a few weeks ago, and you gave 
me a black eye that I carried around for a week. 
I don’t hold that against you. Any man who 
is a man admires a good fighter. Your brother 
tried to shoot me at the dance the other night, 


BLIND BROTHERS 


199 


but he was drunk. I’m willing to forget that 
too—and those other things I’ll not mention. 

“You and I haven’t any reason to be enemies, 
that I can see. I’m not blaming you for what 
you did. Things haven’t been exactly pleasant 
for any of you up here on the River. Maybe 
you weren’t entirely to blame for it. Many 
another man, under like conditions, would have 
done the same things that you personally have 
done. If you care to, I’m willing to shake hands 
and forget the whole affair. What do you say ? ’ ’ 

Meighan remained silent for a few moments. 
His face showed signs of a mental struggle. 

“No,” he said finally. “You people mean 
the square thing, I reckon. It’s more than I 
deserve, an’ more than I ever expected to get. 
But you are both friends of Jim Lane. That 
man sent my old dad to the penitentiary. I 
can’t be friends with friends of his, and I don’t 
ever expect to be askin’ him favors. You spoke 
of our cornin’ back to the River an’ bein’ good 
citizens. Livin’ out this a-way ain’t so pleas- 
ant, I’ll grant you, but what chance would 01’ 
Man Meighan’s boys have of bein’ good citizens 
I’d like to know? Who’d believe them if they 
said they wanted to be? We’d have just about 
as much chance as a snowball in hell. 

“No, I reckon things will have to ride along 
as they are. But you people have offered to do 
the square thing an’ I’m not forgettin’ yore 
comin ’ up here to do it. ’ ’ 

All Meighan’s braggadocio had left him. Gil 
and Helen realized that he was in earnest—that 
it was only hatred for Lane and loyalty to his 
own blood which kept the man from accepting 
their proposal. 


200 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“ Perhaps Mr. Lane was hasty in sending 
your father to prison,’ ’ said the girl. ‘ ‘ Every¬ 
one makes mistakes, you know, Mr. Meighan. 
But if Jim Lane is willing to do what he can to 
right the wrong, isn’t it the manly thing for 
you to let him do it? You are not asking favors 
of him, in that case. You are granting him a 
favor, in giving him a chance to make up. for 
the mistake; just as we wish you to be given 
the chance to make up for yours. By doing this 
thing you are putting yourself under no obliga¬ 
tions to anyone, and you are benefiting every¬ 
one concerned. Don’t you agree with me ? ’’ she 
asked. 

‘ ‘ No, ’ ’ he said slowly. “ I’ve got to think this 
thing over. I’ve got to talk with the others 
about it. I don’t know what they will have to 
say. One way or the other, I’m standin’ by 
them. I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said to 
Hammond. “I’ll meet you down at the mouth 
of Lightnin’ Creek this evenin’. I’ll think this 
over and see what Bill has to say about it. I 
don’t think that he’ll fall for it, but I’ll put 
it up to him. If you an’ Lane want to come up, 
you’ll find me down at the creek about six-thirty. 

“You folks had better be gettin’ outa here. 
Bill’s liable to be cornin’ back pretty soon an’ 
he might start somethin’. Would you mind 
givin’ me a shot of that tobacco before you 
leave ? ” he asked. 

Gil handed Meighan his tobacco can. “Keep 
it,” he said. “I have plenty more down at 
the station. You can give me another can some¬ 
time. I’ll be at the mouth of Lightning Creek 
this evening, Meighan, and we’ll keep quiet 
about what we know. Take your time and think 


BLIND BROTHERS 


201 


it over before you tell your brother. If the 
affair can be settled peaceably Pm sure that it 
will be best for everybody.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” returned Meighan 
shortly. 

Hammond accompanied Helen around the 
cliffs to the point where she had left her pony. 
Then he returned for his own mount and met 
the girl at the south end of the lake. Gil kept 
a sharp lookout for Bill Meighan, but saw noth¬ 
ing of the man. 

Would Lane fall in with their plan of recon¬ 
ciliation, he wondered. The ranger undoubt¬ 
edly believed that he had been justified in send¬ 
ing Old Man Meighan to prison, but perhaps 
he had been a little hasty in doing so. Yes, he 
felt sure that Lane would stand by the proposi¬ 
tion which they had made to Cliff. The ranger 
was fair-minded and generous—not the type of 
man to hold a grudge. Gil was confident that 
Helen would have no difficulty in making her 
brother-in-law see the thing their way. 

It was almost noon when Hammond and the 
girl reached the station. Lane was standing in 
the door as they rode up. 

“You tell him about it, Helen,” Gil said. 
“Pll take the horses.” The girl dismounted 
at the door of the office and Hammond took the 
ponies to the barn. 

“Don’t laugh at me, Jim, please,” Helen 
asked the ranger, after they were seated in the 
office. “I know you will feel like it, of course, 
when you know where we have been. ’ ’ 

Then she told him of her’s and Gil’s discovery 
of the preceding evening, and the results of 


202 


BLIND BROTHERS 


the conversation with Cliff Meighan. The 
ranger did not laugh. 

“You’ll help us settle the affair the way we 
promised, if it can be done, won’t you, Jim?” 
she finished. 

The ranger looked thoughtful. “Yes,” he 
said at last. “I’ll be more than glad to get the 
thing fixed up in a peaceable manner if it is 
possible, but I don’t believe it is, Helen. You 
talked to Cliff. He’s the best of the three. If 
he had a chance he might become a decent fel¬ 
low. 

“What you said about us all being more or 
less responsible for the Meighans is pretty deep 
stuff. I never thought of it in just that light 
before. Still, there may be something in it. 
We have accepted the Meighans at their own 
valuation of themselves, because they have al¬ 
ways been contemptuous of everything in the 
way of law and order. Bill was a slacker dur¬ 
ing the war. He hid out in the hills. Cliff went, 
and was a good soldier, they say. But the Old 
Man denounces the Government and everything 
connected with it, at every opportunity. One 
can’t very well accept people as good citizens 
when they openly show that they hold good citi¬ 
zenship in contempt, can one ? ’ ’ 

“No—but isn’t there some way of showing 
them their mistake? Surely, they must be 
reasoning creatures. If we appeal to them as 
such, in the right manner, and let them know 
that we are in earnest, don’t you think they 
might come to see the thing in a different light? 
It is terrible, Jim—this feud and all the bitter¬ 
ness.” 

“I’ll admit that it isn’t exactly pleasant to 


BLIND BROTHERS 


203 


think about,’’ he replied. 44 But I wasn’t anx¬ 
ious to have Old Man Meighan sent to the peni¬ 
tentiary a few years ago, for stealing timber. 
There was no other way out of it. The ranger 
who was here before me left the river because 
of the Meighans. Frankly, they ran him out. 
I came here, Helen, with instructions to stop the 
timber thefts and other violations. Before the 
trouble came I had a talk with Old Man 
Meighan. Nothing high-handed—just told him 
what the regulations were, and gave him to 
understand that I would enforce them. He 
laughed at the Service, cursed the Government 
at Washington, and told me that he would run 
me from the river inside of six months. He 
started with fires. I could get no proof as to 
who was setting the blazes, but they were un¬ 
doubtedly set. Then followed a regular cam¬ 
paign of petty annoyances. Telephone lines 
were tampered with, grazing laws were disre¬ 
garded, hunting and trapping laws were vio¬ 
lated—just one thing after another. The 
Meighans were making the whole country 
untenable. 

“Then came the timber stealing and the Old 
Man was sent up. He swore vengeance, on me. 
Last year Bill was convicted of moonshine dis¬ 
tilling. Now they are both out again and mean 
to get even with me, and drive me out of the 
country. 

4 ‘ What you said about heredity and environ¬ 
ment is all well enough. It applies to Cliff and, 
in a measure, to Bill, although he is naturally 
bad—all the way through. But the fact remains 
that they are all bad because they want to be. 
They pride themselves that they are desper- 


204 BLIND BROTHERS 

adoes. I think that it has become a sort of 
mania with them. There isn't any remedy for 
it, that I can see. I’ll go with Gil np there this 
evening, Helen, but frankly, I haven’t much 
hope of results.” 

4 ‘Thank you, Jim,” the girl said earnestly. 
“We shall have the satisfaction of knowing 
that we have tried. That is something, at least. 
And please he careful this evening, won’t you, 
Jim?” 

The ranger promised not to take any useless 
risks. As she returned to the bungalow Helen 
met Gil crossing the road to the station. 

“What did Jim say?” he asked. 

“It’s all right with him,” Helen replied. 
“He doesn’t have much faith in the plan, but 
he will stand by what we have promised. Do 
you think that there is a chance to settle the 
affair, Gil?” 

“Hard to say,” he evaded. “If Cliff 
Meighan were the only one we had to consider, 
I’m sure it could be fixed. But Bill will be the 
big drawback, I’m afraid, and the Old Man’s 
influence is a factor to be considered. I’m 
hoping for the best, of course, Helen.” 

“That’s the most sensible way to look at it, 
I’m sure, Gil,” she smiled as she ran into the 
house. 

Hammond found the ranger standing by the 
office window, gazing thoughtfully across the 
valley. 

“What do you think of it, Jim?” the young 
man asked. 

“ It’s a mighty funny business, ’ ’ Lane replied. 
“Helen certainly is a nervy little cuss, starting 
up there alone the way she did. I want the 


BLIND BROTHERS 


205 


affair to be settled peaceably if possible, but I 
haven’t any great confidence in a promise Bill 
Meighan might make, even if he should make 
one, which I doubt. We’ll go up this evening 
and talk it over. That’s the least we can do. ’ ’ 

“I believe that Cliff would do the square 
thing if he were let alone, ’ ’ Gil told the ranger. 
“By the way, who was the fellow they called 
‘Buzz’?” 

“That was Buzz Wilson, a garage man from 
Alta Vista. Your discovery cleared up the 
moonshining question all right. The Meighans 
are making the stuff and Wilson turns it over to 
Sam Wah at Sand Point. The old Chinaman 
evidently has a way of disposing of it there, 
or of smuggling it through to some other town. 

‘ ‘ There is a chance, of course, that the 
Meighans will realize that we are onto their 
little game and come to terms, but it’s a pretty 
slim one. To tell the truth, Gil, I don’t be¬ 
lieve that the Old Man and Bill are entirely 
sane. This lawlessness has become a mania 
with them. They are fanatical in their bitter¬ 
ness and insane with moonshine whiskey most 
of the time. No normal, straight-thinking man 
would have such an attitude, it seems to me. 
That, of course, makes them all the more diffi¬ 
cult to deal with. You can’t persuade an in¬ 
sane man, all you can do is to lock him up. ’ ’ 


A few minutes after Hammond and the girl 
left the Meighans’ hiding place in the cliffs, Bill 
Meighan returned. He had gone down to a 
friendly ranch house to telephone Wilson in 



206 


BLIND BROTHERS 


regard to their venture of the night before. He 
found his brother removing the still and gaso¬ 
line heater which they had set up in the open¬ 
ing in the rocks. 

“What th’ hell are you doin’ there?” he de¬ 
manded of Cliff. 

“We gotta get outa here. They’re onto this 
place,” his brother told him shortly. 

“Onto it? How did they get onto it, I’d like 
to know?” Bill asked with an oath.. 

“Saw us loading the boat last night. This 
bird, Hammond, an ’ the girl down at the ranger 
station were here this morning. Offered to call 
it quits if we would ditch the still an’ lay off a 
the ranger. ’ ’ 

“The hell you say! What did you tell ’em?” 

“Told ’em I’d put it up to you. This game’s 
up, so far as I can see. There’s nothin’ else to 
do. They offered to have the charges against 
us stopped an’ let by-gones be by-gones, if we 
agreed to lay offa the rough stuff. The girl ap¬ 
peared to be pretty anxious an ’ that bird, Ham¬ 
mond, acted like he meant to be on the level. 
They’re meetin’ us more than half-way.” 

“An’ you let yourself fall for that old stuff 
‘—an’ the goo-goo eyes?” Bill demanded with 
a sneer. “I’ve got a picture of their meetin’ 
us half-way. An’ I’ve got another picture of 
their dictatin’ to us what we are to do. This 
still is a pretty soft graft, if you should ask me, 
an’ I’m not quittin’ it on anybody’s say-so. 
Besides, we’re out to get that bunch down there, 
an’ get ’em for keeps. I come near gettin’ Lane 
that night, an’ I ain’t missin’ any more chances 
at him. Are they cornin’ up here again?” 


BLIND BROTHERS 207 

“Yes, I told ’em I r d give ’em an answer to¬ 
night. ’ ’ 

‘‘When they get here we’ll show up missin’. 
We’ll move this outfit into that cave down at 
the mouth of Rock Creek, an’ lay low for a few 
days. Then we’ll make that hunch down there 
so busy they won’t have time to he huntin’ for 
stills—or anything else. ’ ’ He indicated the for¬ 
est-clad mountains with a sweeping gesture. 

“But where’s all this gettin’ us, Bill?” his 
brother asked. “We can’t hide out up here all 
our lives. We’ve been gettin’ by with a lotta 
stuff in this here valley. I’m thinkin’ we’re 
just about to the end of our rope.” 

“We’re not goin’ to hide out here all our 
lives,” snarled the elder Meighan. Not by a 
damned sight! We’re goin’ to get about half 
a dozen of them birds down there an’ then beat 
it. What’s a eatin’ on you, anyhow? Gettin’ 
yeller? Don’t forget that that damned ranger 
sent the Old Man to the pen, an’ don’t forget 
that he’s hooked to get his. We’ve been gettin’ 
by with a lotta stuff an’ we’re goin’ to get 
by with a lot more. If you feel a yeller streak 
developin’, you’d better trot along an’ give 
yourself up. I’m stickin’.” 

“I ain’t gettin’ any yeller streak, an’ you 
know it,” was the reply. “But we’ve been 
offered the chance of a square deal—more than 
we deserve—an’ there ain’t any reason, except 
your pig-headedness, why we shouldn’t take it. 
As for the Old Man, he got what he had cornin’ 
to him, an’ you know that too. I ain’t failin’ 
for no Sunday School stuff, but I’m gettin’ 
mighty tired of this; an’ I ain’t ashamed to 
say so. Another thing—I ain’t lookin’ for no 


208 


BLIND BROTHERS 


first-degree murder charges. When it comes to 
that you can deal me out.’ ’ 

“Are you quittin’ or sticking” demanded 
Bill. 

“ I ’m stickin ’, but you know how I feel about 
it,” returned his brother. “Let’s get this stuff 
down there in the bushes an’ cache it till to¬ 
night,” he added sullenly. “This place ain’t 
go in’ to be any too healthy for us by this time 
tomorrow.” 

“It shore ain’t goin’ to be healthy for any¬ 
body that comes sneakin’ around,” returned 
Bill significantly. 


xvn 


When the three emerged from the timber 
around the month of Lightning Creek that eve¬ 
ning, they found Cliff Meighan seated on a 
boulder, calmly smoking. Helen had insisted on 
accompanying the men, despite Lane ’s protests. 
The girl felt that her presence might serve to 
avert anything in the way of trouble, should 
any such emergency arise. 

4 4 Good evening, Meighan/’ Lane said pleas¬ 
antly. 

44 ’Evenin’,” the other returned gruffly. 

44 Well, what luck?” Gil asked. 

“Nothin’ doin’. I told Bill what you folks 
had offered an’ he didn’t fall for it. I’m stickin’ 
by him I reckon.” 

The man’s reply was short and conclusive. 
Gil was at a loss for words. He turned to the 
ranger. Helen spoke. 

44 Where is your brother?” she asked. 

44 I reckon I ain’t sayin’ just where he is, 
Miss,” he replied slowly. 44 It wouldn’t do you 
no good to talk to him. Bill ain’t doin’ any 
talkin’. I’ve been thinkin’ the matter over 
since this mornin’ an’ I can see that you folks 
mean the square thing by us. I put it up to Bill 
just as you did to me. He couldn’t see it. He’s 
got it in for you,” he told Lane, 44 an’ I reckon 
he thinks that he has reason to have. I ain’t 
sayin’ as to that. One thing I will say though 
—because you folks have come up here the way 
you did. That is: Watch your step. I think 
you get me,” he added significantly. 


210 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“But isn’t there any chance for a settlement! 
Surely something can be done,’ ’ the girl urged. 

“There ain’t no way, I reckon. The best 
thing you can do right now is to be gettin ’ back 
to the station. An’ remember I told, you to 
watch your step. I’m stickin’ by Bill, just like 
I said; but if he would have been willin ’ to meet 
you half-way I wouldn’t have held back none. 
Another thing—if things start a poppin’ up 
here, I ain’t takin’ no hand till the showdown; 
then I’m stickin’ by Bill.” 

The ranger had dismounted. He walked over 
to Meighan and held out his hand. “I appre¬ 
ciate your attitude in this thing, Meighan,” he 
said. “There isn’t any reason why you and I 
should hold a grudge, that I can see. Let’s 
shake hands.” 

Meighan met the ranger’s level gaze with 
a look of equal steadiness. 

“I ain’t doin’ no hand-shakin’, Lane. Not 
today. You sent my Old Man to the pen an’ 
he’s got it in for you. I’m standin’ with my 
own family. But you’re on the level, an’ I’ll 
not forget it. Remember what I told you.” 

He picked up the Winchester that had been 
leaning against a rock and started up the creek. 

“We’ll watch our step, Meighan,” Lane 
called after him. “Good luck!” Meighan did 
not reply. 

“This thing beats me,” Lane said, as the 
three picked their way through the trees back 
to the main road. “Bill Meighan must be in¬ 
sane. What do you suppose he aims to do! 
He can’t defy the law all his life, that’s cer¬ 
tain. We’ll have to do as Cliff said—watch our 


BLIND BROTHERS 211 

step, I suppose. There doesn’t appear to be 
anything else to do.’ 9 

“Are you going to report to Davis what we 
have found out?” Gil asked. 

“No—yes; I’ll have to, I suppose. We can’t 
let this moonshine stilling go on up here. If 
Joe presses them pretty closely there is the 
chance that the Meighans will get tired of it and 
leave the country. I don’t think that Davis has 
one chance in a hundred of catching them if they 
are careful. A dozen men could hide out, up 
here around the lake, with a reasonable degree 
of safety. Of course, the Meighans will leave 
their present location, if they haven’t already 
done so. I’ll tell Davis as much as I think best. 
It isn’t necessary for him to know the details, 
anyw r ay.” 

Helen was considerably upset over the failure 
of their plans. 

“Maybe the thing will drop of it’s own ac¬ 
cord,” Gil tried to console her. “Cliff Meighan 
isn’t going to start any more trouble, if he can 
help it, and he’ll do all he can to keep Bill 
straight. We’ve accomplished that much, any¬ 
way. ’ ’ 

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk to Bill,” 
Helen said. ‘ ‘ There might have been a chance 
of winning him over. Do you think that you 
could do anything with his father?” she asked 
the ranger. 

“Not much chance,” he told her. “Mabel 
begged me into going with Davis up to the 
house a few days ago, and trying to settle the 
thing, but the Old Man wouldn’t listen to any¬ 
thing we had to say. We’ll have to let matters 
ride as they are, I suppose.” 


212 


BLIND BROTHERS 


As Gil and Helen sat on the steps of the 
bungalow in the moonlight that evening, the 
young man found himself marveling at the 
smallness, the sweetness and the wonder of her. 
Lane had said that she was a 4 ‘gritty little 
cuss”—she was everything; everything that he 
had dreamed a woman could be. Gil had diffi¬ 
culty in controlling the impulse to take her in 
his arms and tell her that she was the sweetest, 
most beautiful, most wonderful little woman 
in the w^orld. He was beyond the stage of choos¬ 
ing appropriate adjectives. All the beautiful 
language in the world couldn’t describe her, Gil 
felt. 

Helen, too, was conscious of several things 
besides the moonlight and the gentle, prolonged 
rustle of the pines on the hillside. Nor would 
she have been especially critical of language— 
or method—had the young man voiced his 
thoughts. Helen had been sure of herself for 
days, but she wanted Gil to be sure. Whatever 
he had been worrying about—the thing which 
he had not yet told her—kept Gil silent now. 
Perhaps he felt that he had no right to tell her 
of his love until he had made knowm that other 
thing. Although she felt a very strong incli¬ 
nation for being loved just then, and knew that 
the right word or look would satisfy that de¬ 
sire, Helen withheld the word—and the look. 

She broke the silence with a whimsical sug¬ 
gestion. 

“Let’s have Mabel tell our fortunes,” she 
proposed, springing up and rumpling Gil’s hair 
playfully. As he caught her hand the girl 
pulled him to his feet. He stood for a few tense 
moments on the step below, covering her soft 


BLIND BROTHERS 


213 


warm hands with both his own. Helena eyes 
were on a level with his. For a few moments 
she met his gaze; in the moonlight Gil did not 
see the warm flush which covered her features. 
But Helen was still mistress of the situation. 

4 ‘Shall we go in, Gil?’’ she asked with a be¬ 
witching, taunting, little drawl, “or had you 
rather stay out here in the moonlight and hold 
my hand? I’ll let you—sometime—if you’re 
nice,” she added impishly. Before he could 
reply, almost with the impulse, she bent and 
kissed him lightly on the lips, snatched away her 
hand and sprang up the steps. 

“Please forgive me, Gil, and I’ll never do 
it again—honest! ’ ’ she mocked him from the 
doorway. ‘ ‘ Do come in, Silly. I’m—I’m afraid 
the night air is bad for you! ’ ’ 

Hammond was bewildered—and some other 
things—for the moment. But he had just 
enough intelligence left to realize that the girl’s 
action had been one of playful daring, and that 
she wished to avoid any serious conversation— 
at least, for the present. 

“The night air is very bad for me,” he said 
at last. “It’s—maddening. Come back, Helen. 
Let’s talk about it.” 

“Oh, I don’t want to talk—not tonight, Gil. 
I want to dance, and giggle, and—but that’s the 
night air, too, ’ ’ she ended primly. 

Dancing back to the steps, she caught him by 
the arm and led him into the living room, 
where the ranger and his wife sat reading. 

“Here, Mabel,” she laughed, “is a nice, mo¬ 
rose young man who is afflicted with just a touch 
of night air. He wants you to tell his fortune. 
Make it one of the long happy-ever-after ones, 


214 


BLIND BROTHERS 


please—with the villain and the red-headed girl. 
Ill get the tea things/’ 

Helen returned in a few moments with the 
tea tray and, after Gil had finished drinking 
his tea, Mrs. Lane took the cup. Hammond, 
remembering their former conversation about 
spiritualism, did not know whether to accept 
the thing seriously or not. 

“Pm not certain that I can tell you any¬ 
thing/ ? Mrs. Lane said. “Sometimes I do get 
things right; sometimes I can’t see anything at 
all. This appears to be clear,” she continued, 
studying the cup. 

“I seem to be able to see a person—a woman, 
a friend or relative of yours. She is rather tall 
—dark hair and eyes. Her mouth is small. 
She wears her hair low over the forehead and 
has several small pins, connected with a gold 
chain, on her blouse. She wears a diamond, 
platinum-set engagement ring and a gold ring.’ ’ 

“Does she wear any other rings?” he asked. 

Mrs. Lane continued. “Her hands are long 
and slim—the fingers curve backward. She has 
a very curious ring on her right fourth finger. 
It has an engraved onyx shield. 

“Do I describe anyone you know?” she asked 
Gil. 

Hammond had been listening to the details 
with considerable interest. Most of them, of 
course, could apply to any number of persons. 
When she had mentioned a tall, dark-haired and 
dark-eyed woman, he had thought instinctively 
of his sister, who answered that description. 
The other details, too, had been accurate, though 
not important. When Mrs. Lane mentioned 
the hands and the ring he was astonished. His 


BLIND BROTHERS 


215 


sister’s hands were long and slender; the fingers 
curved backward. And he had given her the 
very ring described, himself. It bore her so¬ 
rority coat of arms on the shield. 

4 4 The person you describe is my sister, Mrs. 
Lane, and I don’t remember ever so much as 
mentioning that I had a sister. How did you 
do it? Your description was accurate in every 
detail.” His astonishment and curiosity was 
very evident. 

44 Frankly, I haven’t the slightest idea how I 
do it,” Mrs. Lane replied. 44 Sometimes I am 
able to tell things like that; sometimes I am not. 
Of course there must be a psychical or psycho¬ 
logical explanation. Jim thinks that it is telep¬ 
athy. Were you thinking about your sister be¬ 
fore I described her?” 

4 4 No—not before you began. That is, not 
consciously. I thought of her as soon as you 
mentioned a tall, dark-haired woman, who was 
a friend or relative. Whatever it is, it cer¬ 
tainly is a strange gift, although many people 
claim to possess it. Are you also clairvoyant, 
Mrs. Lane—a medium?” he asked. 

44 Not that I know of,” she laughed. 44 I 
never have been in a trance in my life, that I 
can remember; and even the ouija board fails 
to respond to my touch. I just read teacups— 
and not very often, at that. I’m not very anx¬ 
ious to have people talking about my peculiarity, 
as you can imagine, ’ ’ she told him with a smile. 

4 4 Can you tell me something else ? ” he asked. 
44 I’ll not think of anything in particular, and 
we’ll try to eliminate the telepathy hypothesis.” 

Gil tried to render his mind a blank as nearly 
as possible. Mrs. Lane studied the cup for a 


216 


BLIND BROTHERS 


few moments. “I don’t seem to be able to find 
anything,” she said at last. “Of course, I 
could draw on my imagination and tell you any 
number of things, if I were merely trying to 
tell a fortune. Suppose you think of something 
or of some person and we’ll see if I am able to 
tell you anything.” 

He concentrated his thoughts, and after a 
few minutes Mrs. Lane spoke. 

“I see something now,” she said. “It is an 
old man. He is dressed in a gray suit—he 
wears a cap. His beard and hair are gray. He 
appears to be agitated about something. He is 
hurrying up the street—he wears heavy-rimmed 
glasses with a black ribbon attached. 

“I don’t seem to be able to find anything 
more,” she told him finally. 

“You certainly have found enough, as it is,” 
Gil replied. “The old gentleman you saw was 
Dr. England, Geology Professor at the Uni¬ 
versity of California. He was the man I had 
been thinking about. The telepathic hypothesis 
must be the correct one, all right. You certainly 
have an unusual gift, Mrs. Lane,” he said ad¬ 
miringly. 

“It sure is a great help in a whist or five- 
hundred game,” the ranger grinned. “Mabel 
makes an excellent partner. She and I have 
the championship of the River; and people 
wonder how we do it. 

“Sometimes the thing is a deuced inconveni¬ 
ence, though,” he went on. “You can probably 
understand now just why I am hen-pecked, 
Gil, ’ ’ he added with a wink. ‘ i Even my 
thoughts are not my own.” 

The conversation drifted from telepathy to 



BLIND BROTHERS 


217 


clairvoyance and other allied subjects. Gil 
tried repeatedly to catch Helena eye; but the 
girl refused to meet his gaze, except with quick, 
mischievous, mocking glances. She knew that 
he was thinking about the kiss, and the girl 
did not care to givo him any advantage because 
of her whimsical impulsive action. No need for 
him to suspect more than was good for him, 
she told herself. 

When Gil arose to bid them good night, Helen 
accompanied him to the door. “How is your 
attack of night air, Gil?” she queried mischiev¬ 
ously. 

“Excellent, thanks. How’s yours?” 

Helen blushed again. ‘ ‘ Oh, I hope to survive 
it,” she told him as she bade him good night. 

When Hammond undressed and crawled be¬ 
tween the sheets of his bunk, he found sleep an 
impossibility. He could not banish the teem¬ 
ing thoughts which crowded into his conscious¬ 
ness. What a complexity this thing, life, had 
become. How different from the even-flowing 
trend of three months ago! There were the 
Meighans—his California trouble—Mrs. Lane 
—Dorothy Paige—Powell—Helen. 

Was the girl flirting with him? he wondered, 
as he thought of the kiss on the steps. W T hat 
about the owner of the sweater? Heretofore, 
Helen had been as frankly straight-forward as 
a boy in her relations with him. Why this sud¬ 
den change? Any one of a dozen other girls 
whom he had known in the past might have 
done the same thing that she had done, and 
Gil would have thought little of it. But co¬ 
quetry in Helen—the best little pal in the world 
—he did not understand. 



218 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Gil was not very good at feminine analysis. 
Could it be that she had read his thoughts, and 
was sorry for him, he asked himself? The idea 
made him feel strangely embarrassed. He 
didn’t want any kisses of sisterly sympathy. If 
he couldn’t have real ones, he didn’t want any. 

Well, he was making a blooming idiot out 
of himself. No wonder Helen felt sorry for 
him. But he wouldn’t have her laughing at 
him. No girl could do that—not even Helen. 
He would have the thing out with her tomorrow, 
one way or the other. 

He rolled over, and kicking the covers to the 
floor, determined to go to sleep. But the imagi¬ 
nary sheep which he tried to count jumping 
over a fence were all black sheep. They kicked 
up their heels and frisked their tails and gam¬ 
boled away, across the meadow. And, with a 
mocking, teasing smile, Helen, the shepherdess, 
clad in hiking costume, sat on the fence, swing¬ 
ing one stockingless, oxford-clad foot and 
watched them gambol. . . . 


XVIII 


But during the next few days Helen gave 
him no opportunity to 1 ‘ have the thing out with 
her.” She did not avoid Gil, to be sure; but 
she did avoid anything which might lead to 
serious conversation; and in a manner which 
left the young man still further bewildered than 
he had been the night of the fortune-telling. 
The girl frolicked with Jim-Jams, as usual. 
Once or twice she even teased Gil about the 
night air,” and alluded to his “Princess”; 
but Helen tactfully kept the conversation 
within the limits of playful banter. 

Lane informed Davis of their discovery of 
the Meighans, and the deputy, with another 
officer, searched the cliffs for them; but without 
avail. He found the camp which the ranger had 
told him about, entirely deserted. No signs of 
the Meighans were to be found about the lake. 

“Dog-gone their slippery hides,” Davis 
grumbled, on his way back to the station. 
“Might as well be huntin’ for a couple o’ wood- 
ticks in a quarter-section. The only way to 
get at ’em is to take a posse and comb them 
rocks with a fine-toothed comb.” 

“There’s a chance that they may get tired 
of the game, and leave the country,” Lane sug¬ 
gested. 

“Not them. All they’ll do is to skip over to 
Crystal Lake, in Quartz County. There’ll be a 
couple o ’ revenue fellers up here in a day or so. 
We’ll go up there an’ just naturally turn over 

219 


220 


BLIND BROTHERS 


every darn rock in the vicinity / 9 Davis prom¬ 
ised, as he rode away. 


One afternoon Mrs. Christy telephoned 
Helen, asking her to bring the Lanes and Ham¬ 
mond over to spend the evening. 

1 ‘ Three of our California friends arrived this 
morning,” she explained. “They are motor¬ 
ing through to Glacier Park, and are planning 
to spend several days on the River. I am anx¬ 
ious for you to meet them. ’’ She did not think 
it necessary to explain that Hammond already 
knew her visitors. 

If Gil had any apprehensions in regard to 
the identity of the “California friends” when 
Helen told him of the invitation, he did not 
show it. The visitors were, in all probability, 
persons he had never heard of before, he told 
himself. If they were his former friends, Mrs. 
Christy would have mentioned the fact, he 
reasoned. He had no legitimate excuse for re¬ 
fusing the invitation; and besides, Gil had 
come to look at the California incident more 
or less calmly. He had done nothing to be 
ashamed of. All this bitterness and dread was 
childish. He would go to the Christys’ and 
meet their visitors like a man. 

As a matter of fact, Mrs. Christy herself did 
not know all the details of the California inci¬ 
dent. She knew the reason for Hammond’s 
leaving; but the fact that Powell was in any 
way implicated was unknown to her. That, 
of course, had been confined strictly to his own 
fraternity circle. Neither was she aware of the 



BLIND BROTHERS 


221 


break with Dorothy Paige. For all Mrs. 
Christy knew, Hammond’s presence would be 
a pleasant surprise for Miss- Paige. She told 
her visitors that some friends from the ranger 
station were coming down to spend the evening, 
and let it go at that. 

Neither Mrs. Christy nor her husband 
dreamed that Hammond’s meeting with her 
visitors might produce an awkward situation. 
On the other hand, Mrs. Christy was hoping 
that the conversation of the evening might 
answer any number of questions, about which 
her husband had insisted that she curb her 
curiosity. 

Elizabeth having once more regained the 
powers of locomotion, the four of them drove 
over to the Christys’, leaving Jim-Jams in the 
care of little Ruth Knutson, who frequently 
came to the station to look after the youngster 
when Mrs. Lane was away. 

Mrs. Christy met them at the door. “Some 
old friends of yours are here tonight,” she told 
Gil. “You will be glad to see them again.” 

Hammond felt a sickening sensation of 
dread, in spite of his good resolutions. A mo¬ 
ment later, when they had entered, and Mrs. 
Christy was presenting Dorothy Paige, Lester 
Powell’s sister, Evelyn, and Powell himself to 
the Lanes and Helen, his face became pale and 
set. The others, too, were not a little surprised 
at seeing Hammond; but Dorothy Paige was 
too well-bred, too much mistress of herself, to 
show emotion. 

“How do you do, Gil?” she said cordially, 
as they shook hands. 4 i This certainly is a sur¬ 
prise. We didn’t expect to meet you up here. 


222 BLIND BROTHERS 

I think this place ought to be re-named ‘The 
River of Surprises.’ ” 

“Oh, Hammond is one of our most prominent 
citizens,” Christy told her. 

Evelyn Powell, a jolly fluffy-haired young 
miss of seventeen, showed genuine pleasure at 
the sight of Gil. 

‘ ‘ Why, hello, Gil Hammond! ’ ’ she exclaimed. 
“And to think that Mrs. Christy didn’t even 
tell us that you were here! Who said that this 
trip was going to be uneventful?” she asked 
the others. 

Pownll’s face had become chalky at the sight 
of Hammond. With an effort he pulled himself 
together. When Gil had finished greeting the 
others, Powell held out his hand. 

“Hello, Gil, old man,” he said. Powell’s 
voice was husky. His outstretched hand trem¬ 
bled visibly; and there was a look of eagerness, 
almost of pleading, in his eyes. For a moment 
Gil made no movement to take his former room¬ 
mate ’s hand; then he caught Helen’s look of 
entreaty over Powell’s shoulder. Realizing that 
this was no place for a scene, he shook hands. 

“How are you, Powell?” he asked coldly. 

Instinctively, Helen knew that something was 
wrong. She had seen Gil become pale, and 
Powell’s nervousness was evident. Even the 
Lanes recognized that something was amiss. 
Mrs. Christy, w T ho had witnessed Gil’s hesi¬ 
tancy in shaking hands with Powell, and had 
noted the strained expressions on the faces 
of the two young men, was horrified. She could 
think of nothing to say. 

Helen broke the awkward silence. ‘ ‘ Did you 


BLIND BROTHERS 


223 


visit Pendleton for the Fonrth-of-Jnly roundup, 
Miss Paige?” she asked Dorothy. 

“ Yes, we spent three days there. Evelyn fell 
in love with all the cowboys, of course. We al¬ 
most had to kidnap her to get her away,” Doro¬ 
thy replied. 

“I didn’t do any such thing!” denied Miss 
Powell. “But some of them were —gorgeous!” 
she admitted. “Lester wanted to ride in the 
bucking contests, but we wouldn’t let him. He 
would have broken an arm, or a neck, or some¬ 
thing—and neither Dot or I are good nurses, 
or drivers. We needed him, you see.” 

“So you limited the breakages to cowboy 
hearts. That was most diplomatic, Miss 
Powell,” Lane offered. In the sharp battle of 
repartee which followed the ranger’s shot, some 
of the tenseness of the situation disappeared. 
Mrs. Christy was quick to take advantage of the 
lull, and dispose of her guests at whist. She 
seated Powell and Helen opposite the ranger 
and Miss Paige. Gil and Evelyn were matched 
with Christy and Mrs. Lane. Mrs. Christy 
excused herself to prepare refreshments. 

When Mrs. Christy was ready with the cool¬ 
ing drinks, Helen ran to the kitchen to help her 
serve them. The girl fearing more awkward 
moments, had been searching for a way to pre¬ 
vent them. She had hit upon a plan. 

“Do you mind if I brew some tea, Mrs. 
Christy?” she asked. “Mabel tells perfectly 
wonderful fortunes from teacups. I’m sure she 
will be glad to do it, if we ask her.” 

Mrs. Christy was more than glad to seize 
upon any plan which might prevent her party 
from ending in disaster. 


224 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“ What could have been the matter with those 
two young men, Helen?” she queried. “They 
acted—so strangely—I thought they weren’t 
going to shake hands at all.” 

“They were both surprised at seeing each 
other,” the girl evaded. “Possibly that was 
the reason.” 

Helen had a rather definite idea as to what 
was the matter with them, but she did not care 
to discuss it. 

“They certainly acted strangely,” Mrs. 
Christy repeated. 

The girl made known her plan to the others, 
as she helped Mrs. Christy serve the cold drinks. 
“We have something in store for you—another 
surprise from ‘The River of Surprises,’ ” she 
smiled at Miss Paige. “My sister is going to 
read your destinies in a teacup. If any of you 
have dreadful secrets on your conscience—such 
as broken-hearted cowboys—you had better be¬ 
ware of the sorceress.” 

Powell looked uncomfortable—or rather, 
more uncomfortable. He had been ill-at-ease 
all the evening. Gil, on the other hand, had 
regained his composure, and was trying to make 
himself agreeable, Helen was glad to note. The 
cards had been abandoned, and he was talking 
easily to Evelyn Powell. The ranger was teas¬ 
ing Christy about some old photographs, in an 
album; Mrs. Lane and Dorothy were laughing 
at Lane’s witticisms. Powell was the only one 
in the party who appeared ill-at-ease. 

Helen, resolving to play Good Samaritan, 
after she had finished serving, took a vacant 
chair at the table where he sat alone, nervously 
fingering the cards. Christy, too, had noticed 


BLIND BROTHERS 


225 


Powell’s agitation; and even Gil, who had been 
watching him all the evening, felt a contemp¬ 
tuous pity for the fellow. Helen chatted pleas¬ 
antly as they drank their lemonade, and Powell 
seemed eager to talk. But he was fidgety— 
nervous. He spilled lemonade on his vest, and 
appeared to be considerably embarrassed 
thereby. 

Finally Helen arose, and going to the kitchen, 
returned with the teapot and cups. “Who 
wants a glimpse into life’s hidden mysteries!” 
she challenged. “Don’t you want to volunteer, 
Miss Powell! Shall it be ‘Ladies First’!” 

“ ‘ Gentlemen,’ by all means!” insisted Eve¬ 
lyn. “Gil here, or Lester would make good 
victims. Step forward, gentlemen! If you 
survive, Dorothy and I shall follow suit.” 

“Mrs. Lane has already told my fortune,” 
Hammond replied. “It wasn’t so gruesome, I 
assure you. Come on—be a sport! She really 
tells things,” he urged. 

“All the more reason for me to keep out of 
it,” laughed Evelyn. “My past and present 
are blameless; but my future—who can tell!” 

She caught her brother by the arm and led 
him to the table where Mrs. Lane was seated. 
“Come on, Les. If I can’t be a sport, you at 
least can be a hero—and save the family honor. 
After you, I come next, my dear brother.” 

Powell, smiling nervously, tried to draw back, 
but Evelyn held him in the chair. Very obvi¬ 
ously, he did not want to have his fortune told, 
either. 

“What am I supposed to do!” he asked, see¬ 
ing that resistance was useless, “make a 
wish! ’ ’ 


226 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“Yes, Silly. Drink this cnp of tea and make 
a dozen of them, if you like. Make one or two 
for me,” commanded Evelyn. 

Mrs. Lane sat watching them with a smile. 
The older woman could not help noticing the 
striking contrast in the three girls—Evelyn, 
light-hearted, yellow-haired, fresh as a morn¬ 
ing glory; Dorothy, beautiful with a conscious 
perfection of poise and manner; and Helen— 
Mrs. Lane studied her sister and realized that 
Helen possessed the desirable traits of the other 
two, with an added something. She was a joy¬ 
ous girl; yet a woman. In her quiet dignity 
there was a warm human touch of sympathy 
and understanding which Dorothy did not pos¬ 
sess. In her lighter moments the girl was as 
carefree and unspoiled as Evelyn. 

Powell finished drinking his tea and handed 
the cup to Mrs. Lane. 

“If there is anything that you don’t care to 
have told, better not think about it, Mr. Powell. 
Mabel sees more in her victims ’ faces than she 
does in the teacup, I sometimes believe,” the 
ranger warned him good humoredly. 

Although he did not know it, Lane’s advice 
had just the opposite effect that the ranger had 
intended that it should have. Powell, who was 
already in a state of nervous excitement, found 
the very thing that he did not care to remember 
crowding all other thoughts from his mind. 
The young man’s face paled again, as it had 
when Gil had appeared in the door. He shifted 
anxiously in his seat, and glanced uncertainly 
at Hammond. 

Gil sat watching the performance with con¬ 
siderable interest. What Mrs. Lane had told 


BLIND BROTHERS 


227 


him personally had given him faith in her 
strange power. He believed that it was telepa¬ 
thy. Was it possible that she could read Pow¬ 
ell ? s thoughts, and tell something about the 
California episode? Gil realized that Powell's 
nervousness indicated that his state of mind 
would be favorable to such a disclosure. Gil 
was not a little excited at the prospect. 

Helen noted his look of intense expectancy, 
and divined something of the cause. She had 
rapidly come to the conclusion, from his avoid¬ 
ance of all conversation with Pow T ell, and his 
cold politeness to Dorothy Paige, that these 
two had in some way been connected with GiPs 
unpleasant experiences which had caused him 
to leave California. Powell’s actions made her 
all the more certain of it. He was now leaning 
forward, elbow on the table, with his hand 
shadowing his face so that the others could not 
see his expression; but Helen had seen him 
grow pale at the ranger’s good-natured warn¬ 
ing. The girl tried to think of something to 
save the situation, but was at a loss for any¬ 
thing to do. 

Mrs. Lane studied the teacup for a few mo¬ 
ments. 

“You weren’t quite fair to me, Helen,” she 
said. “I haven’t had a chance to get my imagi¬ 
nation into working order, Mr. Powell. I prob¬ 
ably won’t be able to tell you anything at all.” 

“Les won’t mind that a bit, Mrs. Lane,” 
laughed Evelyn. “He’s already scared pink 
that Dot here will find out something about his 
past love affairs. My dear brother doesn’t be¬ 
lieve in letting his right hand know what his 
left has done, I’m sorry to say. Do conjure up 


228 


BLIND BROTHERS 


just a little teeny flirtation or two, won’t you, 
please!” she begged. 

“I think that I see something here,” Mrs. 
Lane told them, as she studied the cup. Every¬ 
one became attentive; Evelyn smiling, eager; 
Gil and Helen tensely expectant; the others 
good naturedly amused. Powell’s face was still 
shaded; but his fingers twitched nervously. 

‘‘There is a room here,” Mrs. Lane contin¬ 
ued. 4 ‘It appears to be dark. The moonlight 
is coming through the window. There is some¬ 
one in the room—I believe it is Mr. Powell— 
yes, it is he. He appears to be rather nervous 
and excited about something. He is crossing 
the room to—” 

She paused for a moment, as though aston¬ 
ished at what she had seen. “Why—that cer¬ 
tainly is strange!” she exclaimed. 

Evelyn was leaning forward, tense with ex¬ 
citement. She clapped her hands eagerly. 

‘‘ Oh, that’s just great! ’ ’ she exclaimed. 1 ‘ Do 
go on, Mrs. Lane! He crosses the room—in the 
moonlight—to a girl on a sofa, of course! Do 
—do go on with it! ” 

Powell stumbled to his feet, his features hag- 
gared, terror-stricken. 

“Stop! For God’s sake—that’s enough!” 
he almost shrieked. With both hands to his 
forehead, he staggered through the doorway 
into the hall, and up the stairs. 

Everyone—except Gil and Mrs. Lane—was 
speechless with amazement. Lane and Christy 
hurried up the stairs after Powell. Mrs. 
Christy, Dorothy and Evelyn stood in the door¬ 
way, gazing up the stairs—too horrified for 
words. Mrs. Lane had merely arisen from her 


BLIND BROTHERS 


229 


seat at the table. Of them all, only she and 
Hammond appeared to be calm. Helen, who 
had remained with Gil, where he stood, was 
astonished at his unusual expression. He ap¬ 
peared to be entirely unmoved, not even sur¬ 
prised. He was smiling a curious, almost con¬ 
temptuous smile. 

“I wonder what Mrs. Lane saw,’’ he re¬ 
marked quietly. 

Helen buried her face in her hands. “Oh 
Gil, it’s terrible!'' she whispered. 

Mrs. Lane tried to reassure the three in the 
doorway. 

“It’s just a bad case of overwrought nerves, 
I hope,” she told them. “Surely he will be 
all right in a few minutes—here's Jim now.” 

“He's pretty badly upset, but ought to be 
all right in a little while,” the ranger said. 
He whispered to Gil a moment later. “Better 
take the folks home. I’ll stay here with Christy, 
and call you, if necessary. Powell's gone clean 
out of his head. He’s babbling like a lunatic. 
Better 'phone Doc Miller, from the station, 
and tell him to come up as soon as possible. 
No need to 'phone from here. They’ll worry 
enough, as it is.'' He nodded toward the three 
in the doorway. 

When they arrived at the ranger station Gil 
telephoned Dr. Miller immediately, then he took 
the car to the shed which served as a garage. 
Mrs. Lane and Helen were waiting for him 
on the front steps of the bungalow, when he 
returned. 

“Jim said that he would come home as soon 
as Mr. Powell became better,'' Mrs. Lane said. 
“Poor fellow, he certainly looked ghastly. He 


230 


BLIND BROTHERS 


had been very pale all the evening, anyway.*’ 

“Something like nervous breakdown, I im¬ 
agine,* * Gil said noncommittally. 

They sat on the steps and waited for Lane’s 
return, or for a telephone message. No one 
thought of sleep. That, of course, was impos¬ 
sible to any of them. With tacit consent, the 
three avoided the thing which had caused 
Powell to leave the room. Whatever ideas 
Mrs. Lane had in regard to her cup-reading and 
its bearing upon Powell’s action, she thought 
best to keep to herself. She was glad that 
neither Gil nor Helen had questioned her. It 
was all very strange—weirdly grotesque. Mrs. 
Lane wanted to think the thing over. 

Gil, of course, believed that he understood 
the reason for his roommate’s action; but he 
realized that any explanation which he could 
give might appear far-fetched, even ridiculous, 
from the average person’s point of view. Be¬ 
sides, Powell’s present condition forbade any 
discussion of the thing. Gil no longer hated 
Powell; in the place of hate, a feeling of con¬ 
temptuous pity for the fellow’s weakness had 
arisen. 

Finally they heard Lane crossing the 
meadow. The ranger was whistling plaintively 
to himself. He, too, had been given consider¬ 
able material for meditation. 

“Powell was asleep when I left,” he said as 
he threw himself down on the lower step, with 
a huge sigh of relief. * i He certainly was crazy 
for a while. I thought he was going insane. 
Can’t be very far from it, even when he’s nor¬ 
mal, from the way he acted tonight.” 

“He was always pretty nervous,” Gil agreed. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


231 


“Well, I imagine you folks won’t have any ob¬ 
jection to a little sleep, seeing that it’s already 
one-thirty. Think I’ll turn in myself.” 

He bade them good night, and went to his 
room in the ranger station. Flathead Joe, who 
had been left to attend the telephone while they 
were away, lay on a cot in the office; his gur¬ 
gling rhythmical snores bespoke peaceful ob¬ 
livion. Hammond gave the sleeping Indian a 
peculiar mirthless smile, as he passed through 
the office and closed the door. 


“Mabel,” Lane asked his wife, after they 
had gone to their room, “what did you see in 
that teacup that made Powell go off his nut 
the way he did? What the deuce was he doing 
across the room you spoke about?” 

‘ ‘ I didn’t see anything in the cup at all, Jim, ’ ’ 
she replied. 




XIX 


Next morning Lane called up to inquire about 
Powell. 

“He appears to be all right this morning,” 
Christy told the ranger. “He’s white as a 
sheet though—looks like a spectre. Says that 
he’s going to get up in a few minutes.—Is Ham¬ 
mond at the station? .... Good! Tell him to 
stick around for a few minutes. I’m coming 
up to see him.” 

When Christy drove up a few minutes later 
he found Gil alone in the office. “Look here, 
Hammond,” the engineer began gruffly, “I’m 
not much of a hand at butting in on another 
man’s business, but that fellow did some mighty 
funny talking, when he was out of his head, 
last night. I’ve thought all along that you got 
a damned rotten deal out of that California 
affair, and now I feel sure that Powell had 
something to do with it. Just what part did 
he play in the affair?” 

“I’d rather not talk about it, Christy, until 
Powell is able to speak for himself,” the young 
man replied. “No matter what I may believe 
about it, at present, I can’t prove anything. 
What did Powell say?” 

“Oh, he raved about not doing something— 
cursed that professor, Martin. Tried to tell 
us that he couldn’t help doing whatever he had 
done. He called your name several times— 
seemed to be begging for forgiveness, and all 
that. It wasn’t especially pleasant to listen to. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


233 


Lane heard it.—Do yon think that Powell stole 
the money ?” 

“He told the Academic Senate and our fra¬ 
ternity that I had done it, ’ ’ Gil replied. Christy 
knew nothing of the fraternity affairs, of 
course. 

“How do you know?” 

“Dr. England told me. He said that it was 
Powell’s testimony, in both cases, which caused 
them to take action.” 

“Did you return the money, Hammond?” 

“No!”—Gil was surprised. “I didn’t know 
that the money had been returned.” 

“It was the night after you left, I believe. 
Powell told me. He must have done it himself 
—the damned sneak! Haven’t you kept in 
touch with anybody at the University?” 

“No; even my sister doesn’t know where I 
am. I have written to no one.” 

“Then, you didn’t know that the University 
had suspended action—that you hadn’t been 
expelled?” 

“No!” 

4 ‘ They did. There must have been some doubt 
in their minds as to your guilt, even though the 
returning of the money made it look bad for 
you. Powell told me that, too. From the way 
he spoke, I had no idea that there was anything 
wrong between you.” 

“Powell knew that there was something 
wrong all right,” Gil replied, as he thought of 
the morning he had left his fraternity house. 

‘ 1 This is what I have planned to do, ’ ’ Christy 
explained. “As soon as he gets on his feet 
again—Doc Miller told him to stick around and 
take it easy for a few days, or he’d have brain 


234 


BLIND BROTHERS 


fever—I want yon and Lane to come over to 
the house. We’ll put the things he said last 
night up to him, and ask for an explanation. 
He’ll give it—he’ll he afraid not to. 

“By the way, I wonder what Mrs. Lane saw 
in that cup. He must have thought that she 
saw something, anyway. We might work that 
up and use it as a bluff. Do you believe she 
actually saw anything?” 

“I don’t know. If she says she did, I’ll be¬ 
lieve her. She told me some mighty curious 
things, the other night.” 

“Did she know anything about the money 
trouble?” 

“Yes, she must have known something. I 
told Lane the gist of the affair. But I didn’t 
give many details. If she didn’t know them, 
she certainly made it realistic. I believe in 
telepathy, of course. She might have tapped 
Powell’s mental processes.” 

“It certainly was strange. Find out just 
what she saw, if you can. We might have a 
chance to use it. What do you think of the 
whole plan?” 

“I don’t know. If Powell did the things we 
think he did, he’s pretty sneaking. But he’s 
mighty weak, too. The suggestion stuff might 
work,” Gil said thoughtfully. 

“This is a mighty decent thing for you to 
offer, Christy,” he continued, “especially when 
Powell is your guest. I want you to know that 
I appreciate it, and that I appreciate your con¬ 
fidence. ’ ’ He held out his hand. 

“He won’t be my guest—for long—if I find 
out what I expect to,” the engineer replied as 
they shook hands. You don’t look or act like 


BLIND BROTHERS 235 

a man who would steal two hundred dollars, 
Hammond.’ ’ 

After the engineer had gone Gil stood by 
the window, looking out across the valley. He 
was thinking of Powell and Dorothy Paige. 
The night before the girl had worn an engage¬ 
ment ring, and a fraternity pin similar to the 
one she had returned to him, the morning he 
left the University. So they were engaged, he 
thought, recalling what Evelyn Powell had said 
about her brother’s love affairs. Those two 
engaged! He thought of Powell’s conduct of 
the preceding night, and of its effect on Doro¬ 
thy—and the mirthless, cynical, contemptuous 
smile curled his lips. 

“Oh Gil, don’t look that way. It’s—ter¬ 
rible ! ’ ’ 

Helen stood in the doorway. 

“Why—terrible?” he asked. 

“It’s not like you, Gil. It’s—unworthy of 
you. ’ ’ 

“I know that I must seem a cold-blooded in¬ 
human cuss, Helen,” he replied. “But maybe 
I have reason to be.” 

“I know, Gil—I know several things—that 
you don’t think I know.” 

He gazed at the floor for a moment or two. 

“What do you know, Helen?—do you know 
that I have been accused of being a thief?” 

“Yes, Gil. I’ve known it for weeks. I didn’t 
believe it.” 

He was astonished. 

“Beth Linderman wrote me about it,” she 
explained. 4 ‘ I remembered seeing your picture 
in the California annual which she sent me. 
Beth and I used to be chums in Helena. I—I 


236 


BLIND BROTHERS 


sent for my copy of the Annual, and found out 
all—all about you; and when I wrote Beth 
that you were up here on the River, she wrote 
me—why you had left California before com¬ 
mencement. 

“I—I showed Mabel the letter—it had all the 
details—about how the money had been gone 
when you came back from San Francisco, and— 
and everything. Mabel said for me not to al¬ 
low the letter to—to make any difference. I 
wouldn’t have, anyway. 

“She didn’t read anything in the cup, last 
night. She just saw how you both acted—and 
surmised things. I—I wasn’t being disloyal, 
Gil. It was curiosity. I was sure that you 
were what you seemed to be—all the time.” 

“Isn’t there something else that you know, 
too, Helen?” he asked slowly. 

“Maybe—I think I do—but you might tell 
me and see, ’ ’ again the old mischievous twinkle. 

“There’s something else that I want to tell 
you first,” he said huskily. “That is that I 
think that you are the straightest—the most 
wonderful girl in the world. What manhood 
there is in me, Helen, you have awakened and 
strengthened by being—just your wonderful 
self—” 

He paused for a moment. The girl was play¬ 
ing with the tassel of her crocheted sweater. 

“I’m not going to apologize for loving you— 
you know that I do, of course,” he continued 
slowly. “That’s something that was—it just 
had to happen. But if there is someone else, 
I want you to know—anyway—that I shall 
think of you as—just what a girl should be.” 

Helen raised her eyes to his. “What makes 



BLIND BROTHERS 


237 


you think that there might be someone else. 
Gil!” 

“You said—your Prince of the Sweater, 
Helen.” 

“He wasn’t a prince—only a very good 
friend. There wasn’t any prince—until—” 
She was gazing past him, through the window. 

“Until when, Helen?” 

The mischievous twinkle came into her eyes 
once more. 

“You aren’t very good at love-making, Gil; 
are you?” she asked with tantalizing compos¬ 
ure. He imprisoned both her hands. 

“Until—when, Helen?” 

Again she raised her mischief-brimming eyes 
to his. 

“Until you came, silly. Do I have to kiss 
you again, Gil?” 

Hammond took the initiative with remark¬ 
able promptness. The girl’s arms slipped 
around his neck. He held her hungrily for a 
few moments; then she drew away a bit, with 
a happy little sigh, their hands still resting on 
each other’s shoulders. Each read in the 
other’s eyes magical unspoken messages. 

“Your—practical demonstrations—have re¬ 
deeming features,” she drawled, with the imp¬ 
ish twinkle. Gil resumed the practical demon¬ 
strations. 

Presently, with a little laugh, Helen slipped 
from his embrace. 

“Tell me something, Gil,” she questioned. 
“I’m not going to be jealous, if I can help 
it, but—was Dorothy Paige the Princess who 
was not a princess? Beth didn’t tell me that.” 

“You were the real Princess, Helen,” he said 


238 


BLIND BROTHERS 


earnestly. 4 ‘No other girl could ever have been 
that. When the thing your friend wrote about 
happened, Dorothy returned my fraternity pin, 
without even seeing me. She’s wearing Pow r - 
ell’s pin now. ” 

Both were silent for a moment. “You said 
—that I had been a help to you, up here on the 
River, Gil. How did I do that?” the girl mur¬ 
mured. 

“You had faith in me, Helen—vou and the 
Lanes. You gave me back my confidence—in 
life and in myself. When I wanted to tell 
Lane, before you came, he said that it didn’t 
matter—wouldn’t listen to me. And you made 
me realize that it didn’t matter, Helen. Not 
enough to allow the thing to spoil my life—even 
if I had done it. It looked pretty black—for 
a while, little girl—until you came.” 

After a moment he continued. “You men¬ 
tioned the way I looked a while ago. I was 
thinking of Powell and Dorothy. He was my 
friend, my roommate; and it was his testimony 
that condemned me. I had been betting, of 
course, but that could have been explained, 
if I had waited. You said my feeling the way 
I do was unworthy of me and I reckon it is— 
anyhow, it’s unworthy of you, sweetheart. I 
don’t hate him any longer—I’m not looking 
for a chance to get even. That will take care 
of itself—it is already doing so. But it isn’t 
easy to forget a friend who has betrayed one, 
Helen—even though he is as weak as Powell.” 

He paused again, and continued. “I am still 
branded as a thief in my fraternity and among 
my old friends. Powell did that. I—I can’t 


BLIND BROTHERS 


239 


ask you to marry me, Helen—not until this 
thing is settled.’’ 

The girl looked at him tenderly for a moment, 
then the twinkle came hack into her eyes. “Pm 
afraid you’ll have to, anyway, Gil,” she mur¬ 
mured. 

“What?” 

“I—I helped you make love,” she told him 
with a blush, “—but when it comes to propos¬ 
ing—I absolutely draw the line!” she ended 
primly. The girl slipped into his arms and 
once more buried her face on his shoulder. 


After Helen had finally slipped away to the 
bungalow, Hammond sat for a long time and 
tried to realize that it had not been a dream— 
a wandering flight of his fancy. He had visual¬ 
ized it all before, but had hardly dared to con¬ 
sider the possibility of its ever coming true. 
What a pleasant thing life was—what a good 
old world it was— 

Suddenly the telephone jangled, loud and 
shrill. Mechanically, he took down the receiver 
and answered. 

“Beaver River Station; Hammond speak¬ 
ing ! ” 

“Hello! That you, Hammond?” came the 
inquiry, in excited tones. 

“Yes—?” 

< ‘ Hello! This is Butler—up on the Flatiron. 
Cliff Meighan’s here! He’s got me held up!” 

“What?” 

“Cliff Meighan’s here—sez he wants me to 
give you a message. ’ ’ 



240 


BLIND BBOTHERS 


“What is it?” 

“He sez to tell you that there’s goin’ to be 
hell a poppin’ before mornin’. He sez—wait a 
minute! He sez to tell you that Bill Meighan’s 
go in’ to set the whole damn woods on fire, be¬ 
fore mornin’! He sez—!” 

“The deuce you say!” snapped Hammond. 
“Let me talk to Meighan!” 

“He sez nothin’ doin’. He’s got me covered. 
He sez to tell you that Bill’s soused to the 
gills, an’ is goin’ to set the woods on fire, 
around the upper end of Beaver Lake, an’ on 
the west side of the Flatiron. Sez that Bill 
wants to burn that oil rig they’ve got down 
there, too. Sez to tell you that you’d better 
get every man in the valley, an’ have ’em ready 
to fight fire!” 

‘ ‘ Ask him where Bill is. ’ ’ 

4 4 He sez to hell with you an ’ Bill both! He 
don’t know where he is. He sez that Bill lit out 
this mornin’, drunker’n a lord, an’ swearin’ 
that he was goin’ to set the whole damn woods 
on fire. He sez that you can take it or leave it, 
an’ be damned; but you’d better get them men 
—sez tell you that he ’ll stop Bill himself, if lie 
can find him—sez that you don’t have to be¬ 
lieve that neither, unless you want to—sez that 
if you don’t you can go plumb to hell! What? 
—Yes—to—hell!—hell! ’ ’ 

Butler paused for a moment, evidently wait¬ 
ing for instructions from Meighan. 

“He sez that there ain’t no need of your 
cornin’ up here; he’s goin’ to let me loose as 
soon as I get through ’phonin’. Sez that I can 
call you up after he leaves. He sez—” 



BLIND BROTHERS 


241 


Gil could not repress a smile at Butler’s agi¬ 
tated “he sez!” 

“Tell Meighan that I’ll take his word for it,” 
he interrupted. “What? . . . Tell him that 
I’m not coming up—and tell him that I’m going 
to get the fire-fighters. . . . Yes! That’s easier 
than going to hell! What? . . . ‘He sez you’ve 
gotta hang up ? ’ All right—go to it, son! ’ ’ 

Hammond pondered for a moment. Should 
he inform Davis and attempt to apprehend Bill 
Meighan, or should he attempt to gather a crew 
of fire-fighters? Gil decided to do both. Lane 
had gone out an hour or so before, with Flat- 
head Joe, and might not be back till noon. Gil 
realized that Cliff Meighan would not have 
telephoned, had he not thought the danger seri¬ 
ous. His doing so was a pretty square thing, 
as it was. Gil called several of the ranchers 
who had been employed by Lane during former 
emergencies, and asked them to be ready to re¬ 
spond, in case of need. Then he telephoned Joe 
Davis. Mrs. Davis answered the ’phone. 

“Joe went down to Noxon this morning, with 
two revenue officers,” she told Gil. “He.won’t 
be back till noon. They raided the Meighans 
last night, and found their still fixin’s up Rock 
Creek. Both the Meighan boys got away. I’ll 
tell Joe as soon as he gets back.” 

Gil was forced to admit to himself the gravity 
of the situation. Bill Meighan, free in the hills 
and crazed with drink, might set any number of 
fires; and the woods were as dry as an old barn. 
With the crew which he had at his disposal— 
the men working at the oil well could also be 
conscripted, in an emergency—a number of 
simultaneous fires would mean disaster. From 


242 


BLIND BROTHERS 


what Cliff had said, Bill was intending to fire 
the magnificent stand of yellow pine north of 
Beaver Lake—the best timber in the whole re¬ 
serve—and the side of the Flatiron, with some 
insane idea of destroying the derrick which 
stood near the edge of the woods. The derrick 
could be saved, Gil reasoned, by back-fires, if 
necessary. There was just a chance that 
Meighan was sober enough to wait till dark to 
begin setting the blazes. The thing to do was 
to take him, if possible, before the fires were 
started. 

Gil called to Helen, who w T as out in front of 
the bungalow, playing ball with Jim-Jams. 

4 ‘ Helen, I want you to stay in the office until 
Jim returns, and answer any fire calls that may 
come in from Squaw Peak or the Flatiron,” he 
told her quietly. ‘ ‘ If a call should come before 
Jim gets back, call up Adams and tell him to 
get that crew I ’phoned him about up here on 
the double. Tell Jim that Cliff Meighan has 
just called up from the Flatiron, and says that 
Bill Meighan is crazy drunk, and swearing that 
he’s going to set the woods afire—north of the 
Lake, and on this side of the Flatiron. Tell 
Jim that I’ve already called up Adams and 
those haying crews of his. He’ll know what to 
do.” 

“Where are you going, Gil!” the girl asked 
anxiously. 

“I’m going to see if I can’t stop Meighan, 
before he gets any damage done,” he replied. 
“Don’t worry about me, little girl. I’ll be 
careful, and not take any chances. Someone 
has to go, you know.” 

“Must you go!” she pleaded. He held her 


BLIND BROTHERS 


243 


for a moment and then pushed her away gently. 

“Has to be done, sweetheart. Davis has gone 
to Noxon, and there isn’t anyone else to go. 
Don’t worry. You know that I won’t take 
chances—now! ’ ’ 

He hurried to the stable and saddled his 
pony. As he came from the barn he saw Lane 
and the Indian crossing the meadow toward 
the station. When they came up Gil told the 
ranger of Cliff Meighan’s message, and what 
he himself was planning to do. 

“Davis found their still last night, and de¬ 
stroyed it,” he explained. “He went to Noxon 
this morning. Bill is crazy-drunk. He’s prob¬ 
ably been that way for a week. You know what 
that means. The only thing to do is to stop 
him before he gets the fires set.” 

Lane was thoughtful for a moment. “Wait a 
minute,” he said. “Joe here, and I will go with 
you. Helen knows what to do, in case of a 
fire call; and we’ll be able to see the smoke 
ourselves, from up there. As you say, there is 
just a chance that he will wait till night to set 
the fires. We’ve got to get him before he 
does.” 

Hurrying to the bungalow, he told his wife 
where they were going, and then helped Flat- 
head Joe saddle the ponies. After Lane had 
given another low-voiced assurance to his wife, 
the three rode up the river, leaving the woman 
and the girl, anxious-faced, watching from the 
gate. 

“You brought a gun, of course?” the ranger 
asked. 

11 y*0g * * 

“Good. Joe and I have ours. I’m hoping 


244 


BLIND BB OTHERS 

¥ 


that we won’t have to use them. Have you any 
idea where we are likely to find Meighan?” 

Flathead Joe spoke for the first time. “Me 
find ’um,” he grunted confidently. 

As the three turned into the woods at the 
north end of the lake, to leave their horses, 
they found Cliff Meighan standing by the side 
of a tree, leaning on his rifle. 


XX 


‘ 4 1 figgered that some o ’ you birds would be 
along pretty soon,” Cliff said without greeting. 
“If you’re lookin’ for Bill, I reckon I’ll go 
along.” 

“What’s the matter with Bill, anyway?” the 
ranger asked. “Is he crazy?” 

“You’ve said it. It ain’t the pen he’s headed 
for—it’s Warm Springs. He’s been hittin’ the 
booze steady, for the past week, an’ it’s got 
him to seein’ snakes. He’s loco. This mornin’ 
I tried to get him to beat it outa here, while 
the heatin’ was good—an’ he took a shot at me. 
I’m through,” he added laconically. 

“Would you have any idea where he is?” 
Lane questioned. “It certainly won’t do to 
leave him out here, in that condition.” 

“No. I left him on Bock Creek this mornin’. 
Davis raided the still last night, while we were 
asleep up in the cliffs. When Bill found it out, 
this mornin’, he went loco. I tried to get him 
to beat it outa here, an’ he cussed me an’ took 
a shot at me. Swore that he was goin’ to set 
the woods on fire, an’ when you birds come 
up here to put it out, that you’d get yours. I 
had Butler call up, meanin’ to hit it out alone; 
but I got thinkin’, an’ decided that it wouldn’t 
do to leave Bill the way he is. I’ve been down 
around the mouth of Bock Creek, an’ through 
the woods up here; but haven’t seen nothin’ 
of him. ’ ’ 

“We might split up and comb the woods 

245 


246 


BLIND BROTHERS 


for him,” Gil suggested. “We could meet up 
at the other end of the lake, two hours from 
now, and if anyone of us should be lucky enough 
to run across him, without having a chance to 
take him back without a fight, the four of us 
could go back together and overpower him. 
We’ll have to slip up on him, of course. We 
don’t want any gun play. ’ ’ 

Flathead Joe shook his head with a grunt. 
“No good,” he said. “You had booze cached!” 
he questioned Cliff. 

“Yes, we had a can of it hid up there in the 
woods, below the lake,” Cliff admitted. 

“Him there,” the Indian asserted confi¬ 
dently. 

“There’s somethin’ in that, I reckon,” Cliff 
agreed. “Bill will be lookin’ for booze. Davis 
busted up all we had around the still.” 

“It’s a good idea, Joe,” the ranger assented. 
Without a w^ord of reply, the Indian started 
through the woods around the eastern border 
of the lake, keeping well back from the road, in 
the trees. The others followed. 

At the north end of the lake they crossed the 
Alta Vista road, and keeping out of sight from 
the cliffs, followed the logging trail which led 
across Rock Creek to the base of the crags. 
Presently Cliff Meighan stopped. 

“Bill will be cornin’ down here, I reckon, if 
he’s lookin’ for booze,” he said in a low voice. 

They examined the whiskey cache, and found 
that the can of liquor had not been disturbed. 
,Bill Meighan might still have a supply on his 
person. The ranger placed the others so they 
could spring out and overpower Bill, in case he 
should come for more. The four, crouching 


BLIND BROTHERS 


247 


behind bushes and stumps, and eagerly scan¬ 
ning the cliffs for a sight of him, waited for the 
drunken man to appear. 

Suddenly the Indian arose and appeared to 
be listening intently. Presently the others 
caught a faint rattling sound which seemed to 
originate from nowhere in particular. Lane 
thought that it might be coming from the Alta 
Vista road and turned to gaze down the logging 
trail. But the Indian knew better. 

“Echoes!” he grunted. “Him horse and 
buggy. ’ ’ 

The sound came nearer, becoming more dis¬ 
tinct. Presently the watchers, peering intently 
through the trees, made out a horse and buggy, 
with a solitary driver, moving slowly up an¬ 
other logging trail which branched off from 
the Rock Creek trail near the end of the line 
of cliffs, and joined the Alta Vista road a mile 
or so below the trail they had followed around 
the edge of the lake. 

“It’s that damned Chink,’’ Cliff Meighan 
told them in a low voice. “He’s up here to see 
Bill—has been here three or four times in the 
last two weeks. We’d better stop him. If he 
meets Bill, there’s liable to be somethin’ doin’!” 

As they hurried toward the Chinaman, Sam 
Wah tied his horse to a bush and shuffling 
down to the edge of the lake, began to study 
the cliffs. Failing to locate any sign of Bill, 
he sat down and prepared to wait. 

“Maybe Bill will see the Chinaman and come 
down, if he’s around here,” Lane whispered to 
Hammond. “That will give us a chance at 
Meighan.” 

They crept as close to the old man as the 


248 


BLIND BROTHERS 


bushes would permit, and waited. Sam Wall 
continued to sit on the rock, seemingly half 
asleep, stoically waiting. The three white men 
stirred impatiently. Only the Indian seemed 
to be unmoved, calmly unaware of the tenseness 
of the situation. Gil and the ranger continu¬ 
ously eyed the cliffs, and the woods south of 
the lake, for a sight of Bill Meighan, or for 
signs of the threatened fires. Cliff fidgeted rest¬ 
lessly. 

Had the Indian's judgment been at fault 
after all, Gil wondered? Would it not have 
been better for them to have separated and 
searched the woods for the man? Sam Wah 
sat hunched up on the rock, asleep, like a toad 
in the sun. The waiting became unbearable. 
Even the Indian began to show signs of rest¬ 
lessness. 

Suddenly a rock tumbled down one of the 
shale slides and splashed into the lake. The 
four watchers lay motionless, alert. The 
Chinaman awoke with a start, and sat up, rub¬ 
bing his eyes. Bill Meighan appeared in the 
opening between the cliffs, at the head of the 
shale slide, and picked his way unsteadily to 
the bottom. As he approached the Chinaman, 
the watchers could see that the elder Meighan's 
features were drawn and contorted. 

44 What the hell are you a doin' here?” he 
demanded of the Chinaman. Sam Wah con¬ 
tinued to sit on the rock, calm, undisturbed. 

4 4 You owe me one bundled sixteen dolla, for 
still,” he answered in soft, unemotional tones. 
44 You pay now—alle same as you say?” he 
asked. 

Meighan did not reply. He glared at the old 


BLIND BROTHERS 


249 


man. Bill was working himself into a state of 
frenzy. 

“Why you no pay*?” the Chinaman queried 
again. “You no got the hundled sixteen 
dolla?” 

For answer Meighan seized Sam by the collar 
and shook him as a pup would a rag doll. A 
quick glint of steel flashed in the sunlight. The 
Chinaman, held at arms’ length, stabbed rap¬ 
idly—three times. As the four in the bushes 
rushed forward Bill Meighan staggered back, 
and jerking a revolver from his pocket, fired 
once at the crouching figure with the menacing 
knife. The Chinaman sank to his knees, and 
lay huddled on the sand, like a half-empty 
laundry bag. The revolver dropped from Bill 
Meighan’s hand. He reeled for a moment, and 
before the others could come up, fell backward, 
across the rock where the old Chinaman had 
sat asleep, a few moments before. 

Cliff Meighan lifted his brother and tore open 
his shirt. 

“He’s not dead yet,” he cried. “For God’s 
sake give me a handkerchief or somethin’! 
Let’s get him down to the house!” 

Lane tore off his own cotton undershirt and 
applied it to stop the flow of blood from the 
wounds in Meighan’s chest. Then they lifted 
the wounded man into the buggy. 

Gil turned to the Chinaman who lay as he 
had fallen, huddled in the sand. The man was 
quite dead. Even in death his features were 
mummy-like—expressionless as a mask. Gil 
took a gunny sack from the buggy and spread 
it over the dead man’s face. It was all he could 
do. The body would have to remain where it 



250 


BLIND BROTHERS 


was, until the coroner came. How lonely the 
huddled figure was, there in the sunshine. The 
young man realized that now, in all probability, 
its story would never be known. 

Lane stopped the buggy at the whiskey cache 
and the Indian brought the can; but the liquor 
did not revive the wounded man. His breath 
was failing rapidly. 

“I’ll get one of the ponies and telephone 
from the Moores’ for a doctor,” Gil told the 
ranger. Lane nodded and the young man hur¬ 
ried away. As he reached the main road he 
glanced back and saw the ranger driving slowly 
up the logging trail, Cliff seated beside him, 
supporting the helpless form of his brother; 
and the Indian, still unmoved, walking by the 
side of the buggy. 

Below the lake Gil met Joe Davis galloping 
hurriedly up the road. 4 4 They told me at the 
station that you folks had come up here,” Davis 
explained. “Did you find Meighan?” 

As quickly as possible, Gil related what had 
happened. 

“I’m going to telephone for Dr. Miller. 
They’re coming back there,” he added as he 
galloped away. When he had finished tele¬ 
phoning he rode back to meet the others. Davis 
and the Indian were riding behind, the latter 
leading Lane’s pony. 

Before they reached the Meigfian place the 
ranger gave the others a significant glance. 
They knew that Bill Meiglian was dead. 

As Old Man Meiglian met them carrying the 
body of his son into the house, he stared wildly 
into the face of the dead man and then gave 
Cliff a ghastly questioning look. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


251 


1 k The Chink did it; he’s dead, ’ ’ Cliff Meighan 
explained in graphic monosyllables. 

They laid the body on a bed, to which an old 
woman, sobbing pitifully, led them. The father 
stood for a moment, gazing dumbly at his dead 
son’s face, still haggered and distorted by pas¬ 
sion and hatred; then he sank down by the bed 
and buried his face in the covers. As Gil 
turned away, unable to gaze longer at the piti¬ 
able spectacle, he realized that as Bill, who lay 
there, a victim of himself and of a false con¬ 
ception of human relations, had paid, so Old 
Man Meighan, in hardly less measure was hav¬ 
ing to pay. 

The four slipped out quietly, leaving the 
stricken parents with the body of their son. 
Cliff was tying the pony which the Chinaman 
had driven, to the fence. 

6i This is Buzz Wilson’s boss,” he said dully. 
4 ‘Buzz has left the country.” No one replied. 
They could think of nothing to say. 

“I reckon you’ll be wantin’ me to go along 
with you,” Meighan said to Davis, after a 
pause. Cliff’s face showed no resentment. He 
too was dazed—horror-stricken. 

Davis turned and looked toward the house. 
The mother ’s sobbing could be heard through 
the open doorway. 

“I—I guess they’ll be needin’ you more than 
I do, Cliff,” the deputy replied huskily. 

The four rode away, leaving Cliff Meighan 
still fumbling mechanically with the halter 
rope. 


The passing of Bill Meighan proved to be the 



252 


BLIND BROTHERS 


end of the fire-setting and moonshining regime 
on Beaver River. Despite the tragedy of it, 
everyone realized that some such termination 
had been inevitable. As Lane had said, Bill’s 
bitterness and contempt toward everything that 
stood for law or restraint had become a mania 
with him. He looked upon everyone as an 
enemy—good citizenship was to him a thing 
to be scorned. He was anti-social, a menace to 
the community; and he was past the stage of 
reasoning for himself, or of being reasoned 
with—a human mad-dog. For such a person 
there is but one end. 

Old Man Meighan was now cowed and 
broken; for the piteous old mother there was 
no room for any feeling except sympathy. 
Many remarked that he had brought the thing 
on himself, by a life of lawlessness; but none 
could fail to understand the measure of his 
paying. 

Not the least tragical figure in the whole sad 
affair, Gil realized, was the old Chinaman, who 
lay where he had died at the hand of Bill 
Meighan, up by the lake—unmourned, and in 
a few days to be forgotten. 

Cliff Meighan had gone to work in the hay 
fields. He was still suspicious, at times sullen; 
but the people of the River believed that he had 
learned his lesson. With the big-hearted sym¬ 
pathy characteristic of Beaver River—and of 
other Rivers—they were for giving Cliff his 
chance. 

“Jim has always held that there is some 
good in Cliff, ’ 9 Gil told Helen, a few days after 
the incident up at the lake. ‘ ‘ He certainly is a 
fighter; and he’s going to have to fight/ His 



BLIND BROTHERS 


253 


warning us the way he did was a mighty square 
thing. Maybe, after all, Cliff will find a way to 
fit himself into this strange mosaic we call 
Life.” 

44 It’s a curious mosaic,’’ the girl replied 
thoughtfully. “I think that it is more like a 
chess game—because the pieces themselves are 
always shifting. One never knows what sort of 
niteh one may be called on to fit into next. 
Don’t you think that is one of the things which 
make life so fascinating?” 

“Yes,” he told her, with a whimsical grin. 
“I know one small bit—of rosewood and pearl 
—that isn’t going to do a lot of shifting, if I 
can help it.” 

“You do say nice things—at times—Gil,” 
she told him dreamily. When Helen looked like 
that, Gil always resorted to “practical demon¬ 
strations. ’ ’ 



XXI 


The series of incidents which had terminated 
in the death of Bill Meighan and the Chinaman 
had, in a measure, served to divert Hammond’s 
thoughts from Powell and his strange behavior 
that night at the Christys’. Now that life on 
the River was once more beginning to assume 
its normal routine, Gil found himself wmndering 
just what the outcome would be. 

That morning Dorothy Paige and Evelyn 
Powell had driven up to the ranger station. 
Both Dorothy and Evelyn realized that there 
must be some misunderstanding between 
Powell and Hammond. Evelyn quite naturally 
attributed it to her brother’s and Dorothy’s 
engagement. Miss Paige herself had other 
ideas in regard to the reason for Powell’s and 
Gil’s estrangement. She had observed both 
young men rather closely that first night, at 
Christys ’, and a subsequent study of her fiance 
had not proved reassuring. Miss Paige said 
nothing, but did considerable thinking. 

But Evelyn knew of no reason why she should 
keep silent. 

“Les mopes around like a lost soul,” she told 
Helen. ‘ 4 He’s the most love-lorn person imagi¬ 
nable —only it isn’t exactly Gove-lorn’—it’s 
tragical. I think that lie ’s afraid that Dot here 
is going to jilt him, or something. He hasn’t 
any spirit at all, any more.” 

Hammond, who had heard Evelyn’s remark, 
wondered whether or not Christy had said any- 

254 


BLIND BROTHERS 


255 


thing to Powell in regard to the engineer’s sus¬ 
picions. Gil felt that the thing was bound to 
come to a show-down before Powell left the 
River. Still, he was not entirely prepared for 
the turn of events which took place the day 
after Dorothy’s and Evelyn’s visit. 

The engineer came into the office next morn¬ 
ing, while Gil and Lane were plotting from field 
notes an old section line which they had re- 
surveyed the day before. Christy’s face and 
manner showed that he was considerably ex¬ 
cited. 

“Powell tried to commit suicide this morn¬ 
ing,” he told the two at the desk, without pre¬ 
amble. Lane and Gil looked at the engineer 
in amazement. 

“He didn’t get away with it,” Christy con¬ 
tinued. “I tricked him; and now I think we 
have him where we want him, Hammond. 

“I’ve been doing a little detective w T ork on 
this thing,” he explained. “The night that 
Powell went off his nut the way he did I re¬ 
membered having seen a bottle marked ‘poison’ 
in his traveling bag. I was suspicious. After 
Powell had gone to sleep and you, Lane, had 
returned to the ranger station, I showed the 
stuff to Doc Miller. He said that it was cya¬ 
nide of potassium, in solution. He said that 
collectors sometimes used the stuff to kill moths 
and butterflies, hut that it was dangerous to 
have around. Told me that in his present con¬ 
dition, Powell was liable to do most anything. 

“We emptied the bottle and I asked Miller to 
refill it with something that would put Powell 
to sleep, in case he did try any stunts. Miller 


256 


BLIND BROTHERS 


did so, and we put the bottle back in Powell’s 
traveling bag. 

44 Next day I questioned Powell, in a way that 
he wouldn’t suspect anything, and found that 
he didn’t know a Polyphemus from a grasshop¬ 
per. He hadn’t been doing any collecting. 

44 1 didn’t tell you about it, when we had that 
talk the other morning,” he said to Gil, 4 ‘be¬ 
cause I hadn’t much faith in the thing. It 
seemed too much like Sherlock Holmes stuff 
actually to work—besides, I didn’t know that 
Powell was going to try to commit suicide. He 
did this morning. 

“He acted mighty queer at breakfast, so I 
hung around the house for a while, in case he 
should try to start something. After break¬ 
fast he went back to his room. I meant to go 
up to see if anything was wrong, but Evelyn 
beat me to it. She came screaming down the 
stairs, that her brother was dead—had killed 
himself! 

“She was holding this letter, to me.” He 
handed Gil a note, scrawled in Powell’s hand¬ 
writing, and signed. 

4 4 1 ran upstairs, ’ ’ the engineer went on, 4 4 and 
found that instead of killing himself, as Powell 
had intended, he had merely put himself to 
sleep. I managed to quiet Evelyn a little, by 
showing her that Powell was not dead, and 
telling her that the bottle had contained only a 
narcotic; but she had read the letter, and was 
pretty badly cut up. 

4 4 When I came back downstairs, Dorothy 
Paige was reading the letter. She was cool as 
an icicle. She beats me. The girl is engaged 
to Powell, but for all the surprise she showed, 


BLIND BROTHERS 


257 


she might have been reading that the weather 
would be warmer tomorrow. She just handed 
me the letter, and stood there, with her damned 
perfect composure, without saying a word. 

“Powell’s asleep,” the engineer finished. 

“He’s booked to stay so for several hours. 
What do you want to do about it, Hammond?” 

Gil read the note. It was wandering, fever¬ 
ishly written—a complete confession to the 
theft of the baseball funds. 

“I had meant to return the money,” Powell 
had written. “I did, after Hammond had gone. 
I took it to pay a bet to a fellow on the Call. 
I was going to pay it back as soon as Dad sent 
me my check. I didn’t dare ask him for it; 
I had already had several scraps with him, 
over betting. I got the money from the safe 
while the others were waiting for me to bring 
around the car. No one asked me if I had gone 
back to the Pelican office. If they had, I might 
have had nerve enough to confess. 

“But Martin got the idea that Gil had taken 
the money, and when he looked at me with 
those damned snake’s eyes of his, I found my¬ 
self telling just what he wanted me to. I was 
already scared stiff. When he got hold of me, 
he had me hypnotized. 

“I’m not trying to justify myself. I know 
that I was a coward—that I still am. That’s 
why I’m killing myself. I’ve meant to, ever 
since the first, if the thing was ever found out. 
All the time I wanted to tell Gil that I had taken 
the money, but I just couldn’t do it. When 
they got him in there before the Academic 
Senate Committee, I didn’t believe that they 
could prove anything—and I knew that I had 


258 


BLIND BBOTHERS 


taken the money. That made me wild. I just 
wasn’t man enough to speak. When I found 
out what the fraternity had done to Hammond 
—God! I must have been insane when I said 
what I did in there! And when he threatened 
to kill me the way he did, I was afraid that he 
would. Now I wish to God he had. 

“ After Gil left the campus I was just too 
weak-livered, too yellow, too much of a damned 
coward to speak up. Anything as low as I am 
hasn’t any right to live. I don’t want to live. 
But, for God’s sake, when you settle this thing, 
Christy, keep it from the folks. Dot will have 
to know. I owe that to Hammond. But don’t 
let them know that I was a thief—tell them 
that I went insane and committed suicide. 

“This letter will make things right for Ham¬ 
mond. I can at least do that—even if I am 
not fit to live—” 

Gil handed the letter to Lane. The ranger 
already understood enough of the affair to ap¬ 
preciate its significance to Hammond. Oddly 
enough, at that moment Gil was not thinking 
of himself, and the fact that his honesty had 
been vindicated; he was thinking of Powell. 
He did not answer Christy’s question—“What 
are you going to do about it?”—immediately. 
For several minutes the three men were silent. 

After all, had Powell wronged him as much 
as his former roommate had injured himself, 
Gil wondered? He could not drive the picture 
of the weak, cringing, pitiable fellow, who now 
lay in a drugged stupor, from his mind. Powell 
had caused Gil to come to Beaver River. His 
treachery had broken Hammond’s faith in his 
fellows, in himself, and in all his old ideals. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


259 


But on the River Gil had found something 
bigger and better. 

Mere faith, truth, justice, fraternity, love— 
those old abstractions upon which he had based 
his philosophy of life—were gone. In their 
place he had acquired a bigger conception. He 
no longer held to the old law of the Judges 
and the Prophets—an eye for an eye. The 
abstractions had become relative terms. To 
each and every man they applied in a different 
degree, according to the understanding which 
Nature had given that man. And every one, 
from the smallest to the greatest, was human— 
that meant mistakes. Gil had learned to study 
people. Helen had taught him to look beneath 
the surface of things. 

Had he continued to live his old life, along 
the old blue-printed course which he had out¬ 
lined for himself, Hammond realized that he 
would still be judging people by the old ab¬ 
stractions—those fixed stars, in the firmament 
of his code of acceptance. 

The wrong which Powell did him had sent 
Gil to Beaver River. And the River had given 
him a newer and better philosophy of life, a 
renewed confidence in himself and the world— 
for now he realized that whatever life. might 
bring him, he could accept it and face it with 
confidence—and the River had given him Helen. 

For Gil the future was something to look for¬ 
ward to—it promised him happiness; but what 
of Powell? What would life hold for him, when 
he awoke from his drugged sleep—which he had 
intended to be an eternal sleep? Powell must 
face all the bitterness which he, Hammond, had 
experienced those first few days, in California 


260 


BLIND BROTHERS 


and on his journey north, plus the added reali¬ 
zation that he had committed the theft, be¬ 
trayed a friend and brother, had lived a lie; 
and being too weak and contemptible to continue 
to live and face the consequences like a man, 
had tried to end his own life. 

Hammond no longer hated him, he no longer 
felt a contempt for him. In the place of these 
had come a genuine pity and a sympathetic 
understanding of the fellow’s miserable plight. 

The engineer repeated his question. “What 
are you going to do about it, Hammond ? That 
letter will put you right with the University 
and with your fraternity. It will show Powell 
up to the world for what he is.” 

“Let me keep the letter, Christy,” Gil said 
quietly. “I want to talk to Powell—as soon as 
he wakes. I think that this thing can be settled 
now, in a manner fair to both of us, without 
any trouble. Powell has tried to commit sui¬ 
cide; he might do so again. I want to talk to 
him as soon as possible.” 

The engineer looked a question at Hammond. 
Lane’s face was a curious study of conflicting 
emotions. 

“Do you mean to say, Hammond,” demanded 
Christy, “that you’re going to let that damned 
sneak get away with what he has done, and 
not make him pay for it?” 

“Hasn’t he paid for it, Christy? Isn’t he 
paying for it every minute? And won’t he keep 
on paying all the rest of his life? His letter 
and actions show that he is, and will.” 

Hammond’s attitude was too much for 
Christy. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he ejacu¬ 
lated, with mingled disgust and amazement. 


BLIND BROTHERS 


261 


When the engineer and Gil reached Powell’s 
room they found him still asleep. After some 
difficulty they succeeded in waking him. Powell 
sat up and gazed at them in dazed uncompre¬ 
hension. Then, as his mind cleared, he became 
wild-eyed, white-faced. 

“It’s all right, Les. Take it easy,” Ham¬ 
mond said quietly. “You didn’t drink poison 
—it was only a sleeping draught. We’re going 
to straighten this thing out without any 
trouble. ’ ’ 

Powell looked blankly at him for a moment, 
then he hid his face in his hands and sobbed like 
a child. 

“All right,” he said at last, “I’m ready to 
take it—what is it you want me to do?” 

“I want you to write a confidential letter to 
Dr. England,” Gil said, “telling him just what 
you did in your note to Christy. Doc will fix 
it up for both of us. I’ll write him myself, 
and ask him to tell the Fraternity and the 
Faculty that I have requested that they take 
no action in the matter. They owe me that 
much, at least. 

“You are not going to let this thing spoil 
your future, Powell. I read your letter, and 
believe what you said. What you did proved 
more of a benefit to me, in the long run, than 
an injury. Some of the things which have hap¬ 
pened to me up here on the River have more 
than made up for my having to leave the Uni¬ 
versity. If I’m satisfied to let it drop, you 
ought to be willing to forget it also, Les.” 

“Why are you doing this thing for me, Gil?” 
Powell asked after a moment. 


262 


BLIND BROTHERS 


“There isn’t anything else to do, that I can 
see.” 

Powell could not reply. He arose, and going 
to the window, gazed out up the valley. He 
was moved to the very depths of his being. 
There was nothing that he could say. 

Leaving Powell to write his letter, Gil went 
downstairs. Trembling, with moist eyes, 
Evelyn Powell met him in the hall. He led 
the girl out on the porch. 

“The thing is settled, Evelyn,” he told her 
soothingly. “There isn’t going to be any 
trouble. Les is going to write Doc England. 
He is a friend and fraternity brother to both 
of us. I’m sure that he can fix it up.” 

‘ ‘ Oh Gil, ’ ’ she sobbed, ‘ ‘ how could Les do it? ” 

Her question was almost in identically the 
same words which Hammond’s own sister had 
used. He could not help noticing it. 

“Les meant to return the money,” he told 
the girl. “He did not plan to do me an injury. 
Give him credit for that, Evelyn. You know 
how sensitive he is. What he needs now is 
sympathy and understanding. If he finds that 
the rest of us still have faith in him, he will 
regain his confidence in himself. I was pretty 
bitter at first, I’ll admit; but I believe that 
what he said in his note to Christy is the truth. 
The whole thing was just too much for Les. 
Be as natural with him as you can, Evelyn. 
Remember that he’s having an awful jolt.” 

“Oh, I know that he is weak,” the girl sob¬ 
bed. “He—he always has been, Gil—.” She 
pressed both his hands. “You—you’re an 
angel, Gil!” 

Gil was not an angel, and knew it. The whole 


BLIND BROTHERS 


263 


thing was distasteful to him. But he was man 
enough to look at it squarely. He did not want 
Powell to have to endure more than he could 
bear. If Powell could live the thing down and 
make something of his life, in spite of it, Gil 
would be glad to see him do it. 

Dorothy Paige had for several days been 
looking for an opportunity to speak to Ham¬ 
mond in private. The events of the morning 
had not greatly affected her. From PowelPs 
actions the night of the party, and from his 
subsequent behavior, she had been quick to 
draw conclusions. Evelyn gave Miss Paige the 
opportunity which she sought by going to 
her room and leaving Gil on the porch. Doro¬ 
thy knew just what she wished to say, and with 
her accustomed composure and dignity, soft¬ 
ened by a touch of emotion—genuine, or other¬ 
wise—she said it. 

“It isn’t a pleasant thing for a woman to 
have to admit that she has made a very grave 
mistake, Gil,” she began, in a low voice. “It’s 
none the more pleasant when she realizes that 
her mistake has wronged someone who was— 
a friend. I—I want to say that I am sorry— 
that I have been sorry ever since that first week 
—that I didn’t have more faith in you.” 

Hammond was ill at ease. He had long since 
learned to accept Dorothy at her true valua¬ 
tion. Of all those connected with the unfortu¬ 
nate affair, he had come to give her the least 
thought. Dorothy was eminently able to take 
care of herself—she would take care of herself. 
He would have been more content to let the 
matter drop without being mentioned. 

“That’s all done and over with, Dorothy,” 


264 


BLIND BROTHERS 


lie replied. “Pm not blaming you for not see¬ 
ing me. Under the circumstances, you be¬ 
lieved that I was guilty. From your point of 
view, there was nothing else to do. Let’s not 
talk about it. I’d much rather forget it. ’ ’ 

But Dorothy had no intention of forgetting 
it. Hammond noticed that she no longer wore 
Powell’s fraternity pin, and that his ring was 
not on her finger. His lack of interest changed 
to contempt. Was she going to treat Powell 
as she had done him? 

“Lester and I were engaged,” the girl went 
on in lowered tones. “But I broke the engage¬ 
ment last night—before I knew this thing, Gil. 
After I had seen you, I could not believe that 
you had done as they said. Bob Hadley’s 
sister told me that something was wrong. She 
had heard Bob and the dean talking about it, 
and was asking me questions. When I asked 
Les, he admitted that the money had been 
taken. He was your roommate. Both he and 
Bob were your fraternity brothers. You know 
that I am—impetuous, Gil. I am sorry—very 
sorry for my—mistake. Can’t we be—friends, 
once more?” 

Hammond disregarded the question. 
“Aren’t you making the same mistake again?” 
he asked evenly. “If you loved Powell enough 
to become engaged to him, surely you can see 
that he needs everything in the way of faith 
and sympathy that he can get. Don’t be hasty 
in your treatment of Les. Whatever injury he 
did me was because of weakness, not because 
of any desire to wrong me. He needs your con¬ 
fidence, Dorothy. It will help him get back 
faith in himself. 



BLIND BROTHERS 


265 


4 ‘ Just as I told Les and Evelyn, I’m not 
holding any grudge against Powell. As I look 
at it today—and I am as calm as I ever have 
been in my life—I have to admit to myself that 
the things which the River has given me more 
than balance what Powell did. Life has come 
to mean more, in every way. Powell sent me 
to the River. Why should I hold a grudge 
against him, after the way things have turned 
out? If I feel that way about it, surely you 
can, too.” 

Miss Paige realized from Gil’s words that 
her efforts had been in vain. ‘ i Lester isn’t a 
man,” she said coldly. “He will always be a 
weakling. I don’t care to see him again—ever. 
I’m going home,” she added, “as soon as Mr. 
Christy can take me to Noxon.” 

Gil knew that further attempts to convince 
Miss Paige would be wasted. “Although 
Powell hasn’t the strength of character that 
could be desired, at least now he’s trying to 
take his medicine like a man. I’m giving him 
credit for that,” he could not help saying. 

Miss Paige did not reply. Instead she gave 
Gil a coldly pitying smile, and with head erect, 
and the ever conscious perfection of poise, she 
crossed the porch and entered the house; leav¬ 
ing Hammond still seated on the steps. 


XXII 


As Gil sat at the table in the office of the 
ranger station, making ont checks for the latest 
crew of fire-fighters, Christy entered and tossed 
a large batch of mail on the table. 

“I was down at Noxon this morning, and 
found these in the post office for you,” he ex¬ 
plained. “From the looks of that bunch, 
Powell’s letter must have got results.” Powell 
and his sister had left the River the day after 
Miss Paige’s departure. 

Gil picked up the sheaf of letters and sorted 
them over. One was from the Dean of Engi¬ 
neering, one from his sister; another was writ¬ 
ten in the handwriting of Dr. England. The 
other letters, over a dozen in number, were 
from various members of his fraternity. There 
was a large paper cylinder, bearing the sta¬ 
tionery head of the University. 

“You’re an engineer, are you not, Ham¬ 
mond?” asked Christy. 

“Just a minute,” grinned Hammond, as he 
tore open the cylinder. “I have been such for 
three days, I believe,” he replied, holding out 
the diploma. It stated that Gil had been 
awarded the degree of Bachelor of Engi¬ 
neering. 

“Have you any definite plans for the fu¬ 
ture?” Christy inquired. 

“No. I shall start looking for an opening, 
of course. I’ll have to stay here till the end of 
the fire season.” 


266 


BLIND BROTHERS 


267 


“No need to start looking,*’ replied Christy. 
“I*d like to make yon an offer myself. When 
you get through with this forestry job, Pm 
pretty sure that I have something that will 
interest you. We’ll talk it over one of these 
days,” he finished, leaving Hammond with his 
mail. 

First of all he tore open the letter from Dr. 
England. 

“Gil, my son,” the old man had written, “I 
knew that you were never guilty of the thing 
they charged you with. I told the Academic 
Senate, and the Fraternity that I knew it. 
And now you have been vindicated. No need 
to tell you that the Old Man is glad. 

“I placed Lester Powell’s letter in the hands 
of a representative committee of the Senate, 
as soon as I received it. They immediately 
took such action as your letter will tell you. 
Your record is as clean today as it was the 
day you entered the University. I am glad that, 
as you told me in your letter, you are nothold¬ 
ing any enmity. Many of the Faculty believed, 
as I did, that you could not have done the 
thing. That is why they had agreed to let the 
matter drop, without any decisive action. 

“As to the Fraternity, I called together all 
the available members around the University 
and in San Francisco. When I read them 
Powell’s letter, needless to say, they were 
deeply moved. The Fraternity has written you, 
as an organization, and most of the members 
have written personally. Don’t feel bitter 
toward the boys, Gil. Remember that they 
were young— hot-headed. As you said, they 
worshiped the name of the Old Fraternity. 


268 


BLIND BROTHERS 


Many of them are not old enough to have 
grasped the bigger meanings. But they are 
fine, big-hearted, impulsive fellows. And they 
are deeply grieved over their mistake. I am 
sure that you will see that the manly thing— 
the big thing, Gil—is not to hold bitterness. 

* i Your request in regard to Powell, I placed 
before both the Academic Senate and the Fra¬ 
ternity. The former has consented to take 
no action in the matter; and the Fraternity 
will not make the mistake it did before. Powell 
will be given his chance. Let me say that the 
boys appreciate your attitude in this thing. 
It has given them a new conception of the mean¬ 
ing of Fraternity. As you say, the episode has 
not happened in vain. 

“I am glad that you have found happiness 
up there on your little river. The Old Man has 
always desired it for you, in the fullest meas¬ 
ure. Write him, Gil, my son. Remember that 
he will always be 

i 1 Fraternally yours, 

‘ ‘ Thomas England. ’ ’ 

“Good Old Doc—good Old Roman—the no¬ 
blest Roman—the noblest Greek—of them all! 5 ’ 
Gil murmured to himself, as he folded the old 
man’s letter. 

He read the message from his sister, then the 
one from his fraternity, and afterwards each 
of the letters from the brothers themselves. 
After he had finished reading he stacked the 
letters together and mechanically tied them into 
a bundle with a piece of twine. 

For a long time he sat deep in thought. Gil 
had learned to avoid a hasty impulsive deci- 


BLIND BROTHERS 


269 


sion. The words of the old doctor’s letter came 
back to him. Yes, the boys were fine, big- 
hearted, impulsive fellows. They had not 
meant to do him a wrong. And they were still 
his brothers, had asked him not to repudiate 
that brotherhood because of their mistake. The 
Old Doc had begged him not to hold bitterness 
—to do the manly thing. 

He went to the typewriter and composed an 
answer to Dr. England and to his fraternity. 
Then he opened his trunk which sat in front of 
the window and took out the tray. In the bot¬ 
tom, still neatly folded, lay his big sweater, 
with its block “C”—emblem of California and 
the Golden Bear. Beneath it lay his memory 
book, the cover gold-stamped with the Univer¬ 
sity initial. Crammed into a corner of the 
trunk, in the little box which he had thrust into 
the pocket of his bathrobe, that morning at his 
fraternity house, was his pin, together with the 
seal ring which he had removed in the office 
of the real estate dealer, in San Francisco. Gil 
spread them out on the bed. They were his— 
with all their pleasant memories, happy asso¬ 
ciations. He would not allow a little stubborn 
bitterness to rob him of all those memories and 
associations. They Tvere passed—could never 
be replaced. And they were his—now he had a 
right to them! 

Gil opened the little box and took out his 
fraternity pin. It lay in his hand, pearl-en¬ 
crusted and enameled, the emblem of his rela¬ 
tion to—all his fellowmen! The word, “Fra¬ 
ternity”—what a metamorphosis its meaning 
had undergone! Four months ago he had con¬ 
sidered it to be a tie which bound a few—chosen 


270 


BLIND BROTHERS 


for similarity of taste, good breeding, good 
fellowship. Now he realized that it was a tie 
which bound every man to his fellow. It was 
a race-tie—one which had existed since the be¬ 
ginning of human advancement. It was this 
same principle which had enabled savage Man 
to survive throughout the ages—had enabled 
him to conquer this still-cooling planet and 
make it his own. It was back of the co-opera¬ 
tion which meant progress. Its attributes were 
faith, sympathy, understanding. Its applica¬ 
tion could not be limited to an individual group; 
it was a world-factor, vital in the progress of 
the race. 

Gil picked up the little pin and fastened it to 
the pocket of his flannel shirt. 


‘ 4 Mamma, ” chirped Jim-Jams—it was Sat¬ 
urday; they were at the dinner table, “what 
makes Aunt Helen an’ Hammon’ look at each 
other all the time, an’ jus’ smile? Do they 
know somethin’ funny, Mamma? Do they?” 

Gil and Helen joined in the laugh which fol¬ 
lowed. 

‘ ‘ They know something very nice, I imagine, 
Son-boy,” replied Mrs. Lane. “Suppose you 
ask them about it, ’ ’ she added with a sly glance 
at her husband. 

“I was thinking,” Hammond told Helen, 
“that it has been quite a while since we visited 
the Submarine. Suppose we make a little social 
call on His Majesty this afternoon. I have a 
feeling that the old boy is going to unbend and 
be friendly for once.” 



BLIND BROTHERS 


271 


“ ‘To him who in the love of Nature holds 
— ’ ” quoth Lane. “ ‘Holds’ is good. We’ll 
draw a curtain on the ‘holding,’ ” he grinned 
maliciously at Helen. 

‘ 4 Oh, Mamma! I’in goin’, too! ’ ’ shouted Jim- 
Jams, banging his plate with his knife. “I can 
hold him! I failed right on top of one onct— 
didn’t I, Hammon’?” 

1 ‘ I should say you did! And you ‘ failed ’ into 
the creek, too, if I remember correctly. We’ll 
have to get you a rubber diving suit, Jim- 
Jams.” 

“Mamma’s going to make cookies this after¬ 
noon. Don’t you want to stay with her? Gil 
will let you see the fish, when he returns, you 
know,” his mother suggested. 

Jim-Jams became a rank deserter. “Will 
you give me some cookies, Mamma?” he 
shouted. “Will you give me a bucket full? I 
want to feed ’em to the rooster—an’ I want 
to eat some, too! Will you give me a bucket 
full, Mamma?” 

“Oh, I’ll give you several,” Mrs. Lane tem¬ 
porized, with a smile. 

“How many is ‘several,’ Mamma? I wanna 
bucket full. Will you give me a bucket full, 
Mamma? Will you?” 

“Yes, yes, son,” replied Mrs. Lane, with 
mental reservations concerning the size of the 
bucket. 

“What shall we use for bait?” Helen asked. 
“Flathead Joe said that they were biting grass¬ 
hoppers, last week.” 

“I have Jim’s latest Parisian models in flies, 
and also salmon eggs,” replied Hammond. 
‘ 1 The Submarine would be insulted at the sight 


272 


BLIND BROTHERS 


of a mere grasshopper. He would consider the 
offer of such a bait nothing less than lese 
majesty/’ 

“I had forgotten his aristocratic tendencies,” 
the girl replied. “We’ll give him the Parisian 
models, by all means.” 

As they crossed the meadow to the creek, 
Helen glanced at Gil’s fraternity pin and gave 
him a little smile of understanding. 

“Christv has given Cliff Meighan a job over 
at the oil*well,” he told her. “He says that 
Meighan is making good.” 

“I am glad of that,” the girl replied softly. 

“Yes; so am I. Christy told me this morn¬ 
ing that he would have a place for me as soon 
as the fire season closes up here. I think that 
I shall take it. The pay will be good; and 
Christy is a fine man to work with. Then, there 
is a chance that one may strike something lucky, 
in the oil business. ’ ’ 

“Jim has some shares in the well, has he 
not ?’ ’ 

“Yes, and I have a tiny block myself. 
Christy has a lot of faith in this project ; but 
it’s pretty much of a toss-up, just yet. I’m 
not worrying about the future, Helen. There 
is too much—too many other things, to leave 
room for worry. When you have finished your 
school, next June, little girl—” 

The two followed the path leading down to 
the big pool, forgetful of everything except 
their own plans for the future. Truly, it held 
too much for both of them to leave room for 
worry. 

Gil and Helen were not expecting too much 
of life. Both realized that neither was especi- 


BLIND BROTHERS 


273 


ally gifted—neither had any of the attributes of 
genius. They were just two, out of the thou¬ 
sands of wholesome, sane, straight-thinking 
young men and women of America. All they 
desired was to he able to fit themselves into 
their own particular nitch in life, to the best 
possible advantage to themselves, and every¬ 
one else. They were starting like thousands of 
other young couples. Their heritage was faith 
in themselves, in each other, and in the rest 
of mankind; a wealth of human sympathy, and 
the beginnings of a true conception of life. 

Some few people are given genius—are po¬ 
tentially, great benefactors of the race. One 
may believe, as someone has said, that the Great 
Scorekeeper gives these a rating according to 
the degree in which they make use of their 
gifts. If their percentage in the score-column 
is high, many errors can be forgiven. Others, 
like Powell and Cliff Meighan, start life with a 
handicap. If, in spite of this, they learn to 
play their little part in the game, surely the 
Scorekeeper does not forget to take the handi¬ 
cap into account when he figures the final aver¬ 
ages. There is another class; to this belong all 
the Gils and Helens. The members of this 
group start with the advantage of knowing how 
to play the game—with a philosophy of life. 
If they play their parts, now and then stopping 
to help the score of a less skilful player, by 
giving him the hand of brotherhood, of sym¬ 
pathetic understanding, of Fraternity—surely 
their worth is not forgotten in the final rating 
of the team. 

As they approached the pool Gil stopped. 

“We must be careful to keep out of sight, 




274 


BLIND BE OTHERS 


and not let our shadows fall on the water,” he 
told her. “I think we had better cross over 
and cast from behind that clump of bushes.’ * 

A big tree was lying across the creek, below 
the pool. As they started to walk across it, 
Hammond pointed to a long black object which, 
caught on a submerged snag, was waving back 
and forth in the current. 

‘‘What the deuce is that?” he asked. 

Helen gave a little laugh. “It must be my 
stocking,” she said. “I dropped it in the pool, 
that day, if you remember.” 

“Yes, I noticed,” he grinned. “I’ll get it for 
you. ” 

Helen protested, but he loosened his line and 
cast out into the stream, in the hope of un¬ 
hooking the truant stocking from the snag upon 
which it had caught and was undulating back 
and forth in the current. 

“Couldn’t think of leaving it there,” he 
drawled. 11 Think of the influence it might have 
on the fish!—besides, it’s bad luck to separate 
a pair of socks.” 

Suddenly, as he trailed the hook-tipped leader 
in the ripples, there came a tremendous splash 
and tug on the line; and as Gil’s grasp tightened 
instinctively, in answer to the stubborn pull, 
the wrapped bamboo pole bent to the breaking 
point, the reel screaming a challenge, as the 
line played out. 

“Sufferin’ shades of Isaac Walton!” he 
yelled, clutching desperately at rod and reel. 
“We’ve hooked the Submarine!” 

But the wager had already been paid. 


THE END 

















V 





































































































